KOTOR: The Prodigy of Revan Book One
by TheBeatBoys21Drifter
Summary: In the skies above the Outer Rim world Taris, a Jedi battle fleet engages the forces of Malak in a desperate effort to halt the Sith's galactic domination. Among the Jedi force, however, is an elite few whose actions will tip the scale of the war. Reviews welcome!
1. Prolouge: A Little Fair Well

**_A/N: Before I begin, I'd like to point out that I HATE the Endar Spaire/Taris arch of the story. While, yes, it allows for the introduction of the main characters and plot, it is boring as $#!+ to write. That being said, I'd like to apologize if my OC comes off as a Sue, but I just sped through the introductory mission without any pause for consequence or likely fandom reactions. I. HATE. THE TARIS. ARC._**

**_Again, my foremost apologies._**

**_– Leake  
(Edit 05/10/08 And it's pronounced LEEK. If you're going to insult me via YouTube, do me the respect of at least saying my name correctly.)_**

* * *

_"Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."  
_**– Luke 15:32**

A Long Time Ago In A Galaxy Far, Far Away...

STAR WARS  
KNIGHT OF THE OLD REPUBLIC  
THE PRODIGY OF REVAN  
BOOK I

**"A Little Far Well"  
Unknown Date/Time  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
The ****_Endar Spire_****, Taris System**

The graceful form of the Republic Battle cruiser, Endar Spire, slid over the silhouette of the aging metropolitan world of Taris. Three smaller escorts to ensure the completion of her vital mission and the delivery of her precious cargo flanked the long warship. On this day, the hard-pressed Republic had taken a desperate gamble and the hopes of her people lay with the Spire.

As the Spire glided past the silver sphere of Taris, small attack craft rocketed toward her, deploying their weapon spars: These where the latest Sith fighters. Their covert mission blown, the Spire would now have to fight or perish, but the odds were against her.

Weapon turrets came to life and targeting systems locked onto enemy star fighters as they screamed ahead on their attack runs.

Flashes of light erupted around the battle cruiser and her escorts. A fierce melee had begun, which would determine the fate of the Galaxy. Cannon from the Spire and the three destroyers belched forth in answer, vaporizing incoming Sith craft in puffs of hot gas. On command, one of the escorts veered away from the Spire to act as a picket to break up the incoming formations. Sith squadrons broke upon the picket as deadly fire tore them from space, but the sheer weight of numbers wore down the defenders. Swarms flitted about the lone ship and soon, the picket glowed with fire from numerous torpedo hits and a second destroyer came about to stand between the Spire and her enemies.

"We've lost the Delos. I've ordered the Atlantean to cover our retreat. Crewman, where's Bastila?" asked a tall, dark-haired man dressed in a Republic uniform of gray and black. The setback did little to upset his commanding presence and his brown eyes were set sternly upon the display of the unfolding battle.

The crewman looked over, now distracted from the fight. "She's employing the Battle Meditation, Commander Onasi. We've inflicted heavy losses on the Sith, but we cannot hold against such numbers. Sensors show three hundred fighters and an Interdictor-Class cruiser. Sith losses are at almost fifty fighters, but they keep coming. Multiple squadrons are still inbound," he said sweat trickling down his cheeks.

Chief Commander Carth Onasi peered grimly over to the tactical display near the command chair and saw the destroyer Atlantean surrounded by a swarm of angry Sith fighters. Torpedoes tore into her hull as she struck out at the hornets that would be her doom. The Commander gritted his teeth, causing the lines around his eyes to wrinkle.

Red symbols flashed on the tactical display and an officer shouted, "Commander, three squadrons got past the Atlantean and have vectored toward the Spire. Sith assault transports are among them."

The urgency in his voice was barely on the edge of panic. His face twisted in anger, Commander Onasi pressed the ship wide intercom. "Marines, prepare to repel boarders. Helm, come about and bring our port batteries to bear," he said. A huge explosion rocked the ship. Several emergency sirens flared around the bridge.

"Commander Carth!" A Lieutenant shouted above the noise. "Sir, we've lost the barracks, sir!"

"Which ones?"

"Block 341, sir," A sudden look of horror plastered across the Lieutenant's snow-white face as he said, terror stitched to his voice. "The Union's enlisted men, as well as several officers were in there prepping the troops, sir."

_Of course, since everything's going so well. _Onasi thought. He looked at the scene around him, desperately trying to figure out his next action.

His train of thought was momentarily interrupted by a beeping noise. Onasi tapped the intercom control and nodded several times to a voice. He then turned and firmly grasped a junior officer by the shoulder, his face beaming with joy. "Ensign Ulgo, I need you to head to the officer's quarters and get some weapons and your bunkmate. Bastila wants him brought to the Bridge ASAP."

The young Ensign Trask Ulgo pursed his lips in disapproval. "Sir, my place is here with you. What could we possibly need some other? It doesn't make sense, sir."

The tension on Onasi's face became evident although he fought to retain his cool demeanor. "Ensign, I have no idea. Our Jedi friend has ordered it, and since the Jedi are in charge, we do their bidding. Besides, he's the SATWR only left on the ship, plus he's an officer. That means bigger survival rates for us. Now…MOVE!"

With a shove from Carth, the blond Ensign nodded and rushed from the Bridge. When Ulgo had departed, the Commander returned his attention to the coming disaster.

At the age of 38, Onasi was a career military officer and had seen many campaigns against both the Mandalorians and the Sith. He was considered a skilled pilot and a superior tactician by his peers and had earned the respect of friend and foe alike. His dedication to duty and loyalty to the Republic was without question, but soon, his beliefs would be sorely tested.

As Trask quickly made his way to the crew quarters, the ship rocked from torpedo hits. He momentarily lost his balance as Marines rushed past him to preplanned positions for the defense of the Spire. Seeing them; the young ensign nervously grasped an empty thigh holster, his blaster shot out of his hands only moments ago, he cursed himself. His breathing came in fearful gulps and the color had drained from his face.

He dashed down a gangway to his quarters and opened the door hastily. Entering the dark room, he flicked on the lights. Again, explosions rocked the ship and the illumination dimmed for a moment.

What the hell do the Jedi want with this guy? It makes absolutely no sense. I should be on the bridge with the Commander, SAWTR or no.

* * *

Blasts of ion cannons flared around the bridge as a group of five Jedi faced the lone Sith Lord standing in front of them. As they stared, the masked Sith raised his lightsaber, the purr of it sounding above the fire outside the ship. A small group of SAWTRs gathered around the Jedi assassins finished off the remaining guards and encircled their mark.

A young woman aimed her yellow single lightsaber towards the Sith. "You will not win, Revan", she said as the ship shook. Two of the Jedi and Spartans stumbled, but stayed on their feet. "You are outnumbered."

"Do not underestimate me, Bastila Shan, it would be beneficial to your health," Darth Revan responded, his red saber made no sound as he spun it in the air, challenging the small group to duel. As the Jedi around her tensed, Bastila unblinkingly raised her lightsaber to stomach level, preparing her control of the force for battle. As she waited, the ship violently shook, and, unable to stand, Bastila fell.

She rolled in case Revan used this time to attack her, but looking towards him, she watched as he fell and bashed his head hard against the bridge's main console. She bit her lip as she remembered her orders. _"Ma'am," _one of the Raiders asked, voice distorted by his helmet but not masking his pause in action. _"Orders?"_

After making sure he was unconscious she uncovered his Spartan mask to see his face. Though it was stained by the darkside's touch and blood pooled from a gash on his brow and other facial injuries he was still relatively handsome. She cleared her thoughts and felt for a pulse. She found it, he was alive, but barely, he was slipping away. She healed him with her Force powers, and felt something inside of her bonding with him. She quickly replaced the ornate mask, motioning one of the Spartans to help her move him, and walked back to the ship they originally came on.

"Quickly, to the Academy," Bastila commanded, "we may be able to save him."

After blasting off, the ship exploded, and they were blown 50,000 kilometers before they were able to use hyperspace to fly to Dantooine.

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Jackson "Jack" Mathis Knight rolled in his sleep, having no knowledge of why he was seeing Darth Revan's death, nor caring. He was a Spartan officer of the Department of Special Assault Warfare Tactics and Reconnaissance, on loan to the Republic by the Spartan Union, along with several Spartan Navy vessels and several million Spartan Union Colonial Marines. And after being awake for the past eight weeks, any sleep he got was well beyond welcomed. He was jarred from his rest when an ion torpedo struck the ship he was on…

His eyes popped open._ That can't be good._

He rolled out of bed, and grabbed the blaster pistol under his cot as an exhausted man slumped into the barracks. He fired a heavy orange bolt and missed his head by an inch. He cursed to himself, and got to his feet, his gun fixed on him.

"Hey! Whoa! Hold on! We're on the same side!"

"Same side, huh?" Knight hissed. "Alright…"

"Oh, thank you–"

As he took a step forward, Jack shot a bolt into the floor near his feet. He jumped and cursed.

"What the hell are you–?"

"Before I trust you, I need to know some things."

"O…okay…"

"First off; Where the Hell am I?"

"You're on the Endar Spire, a Republic Battle cruiser ship…and we're in the middle of a space battle with the Sith."

"Okay, how did I get on here?"

"You hit your head on something, son?" The man asked; Jack shot another round dangerously close to his groin.

"Drowsiness, wking up suddenly to the alarms of atack tends to do that. So pardon me if I'm not all here for the moment."

"Okay, okay…calm down…You came onboard with about a platoon of other SAWTR troops, officers included, with four Jedi: Bastila Shan, Frei Huien, Jefar Gnarrs, and Andrea Soto."

"Where are the other Raiders?"

"Dead, they were sucked into vacuum after the first hit we took. Commander Onasi wants—"

"Alright, who are you?"

"Ensign Trask Ulgo, Republic Navy."

"Lieutenant Commander Jack Knight. Department of Special Assault Warfare Tactics and Reconnaissance, Ensign Ulgo, why aren't you armed?"

"Gun was shot out of my hands, sir. I came here 'cause I knew there'd be an armory back here, and—"

"Looking for an armory? You mean the Union exclusive armory? Sorry Ensign, but I can't allow you to access that gear, Raiders only."

"But…sir…the bridge crew isn't well armed, and I'll be killed if—OOF!"

Trask fell to the floor, holding the blaster pistol that the officer tossed to him, which must've weighed a least ten kilograms. "Use that," he said, donning the jet-black MAVERICK-XXI assault armor. He placed his helmet on last, the around-the-ear headset buzzed as the sys-link cable connected to his suit through the USB ports behind his ear, the holo-visor came to life, then the helmet's plating deployed, like a Nitrath's scales when it's pissed. It's Heads-Up-Display provided him with every thing he needed to know. Ammo count, party health, and his Direct Repulsion Action Controlled Occurrence Ordinance Network kinetic barriers. He and the rest of the Spartan Marines call them for what they were: energy shields.

He hefted the signature weapon of the Spartan Marines, the XMAR-114 "Dragon" assault rifle, and secured his ORO-P23 combat knife stored in its magnetic sheath on his chest piece. He was a highly trained killing machine. He was walking proof that both the Jedi and the Sith had a greater enemy than themselves in this war. The only tie that bound them was a loosely regarded treaty signed when they were discovered durring the Great Sith War. But with the galaxy's best soldiers at their back, the Republic's chances of the Republic's survival skyrocketed. But 'chance' didn't mean anything if they were all killled.

Then, video on his CROSS-Com popped up. A middle age man in a Republic officer's uniform appeared on it. He said with haste:

_"This is Operations Chief Carth Onasi, the Sith are threatening to overrun our position! We can't hold out long against their firepower! All hands to the bridge!"_

_"Rodger that, Chief, this is Lieutenant Commander Jack Knight, Department of Special Assault Warfare Tactics and Recon," _a voice replied over the com brought Carth a sense of slight relief. A Raider really was still alive, he felt that at least a tenth of his crew could make it off here alive. _"Moving to your location, recommend keeping radio silence, and evacuate the ship immediately if we can't hold out, over."_

"Recommendation agreed upon, Lit-Com Knight, initiating now. Damn, it's good to hear your voice. Meet me up in the bridge, ASAP, Spartan!"

_"Alright, Ensign Trask Ulgo, Republic Navy,"_ Lieutenant Commander Jack Knight stated, his voice distorted from the external com speakers, slapping an energy clip into the magazine slot and charging the blaster. "_Fall out, keep it tight, don't do anything stupid, and you might make it out of here," _Knight said opening the first door out, _"Clear?"_

Trask grunted, anger and fear forming on his face. "Their assault transports must have landed! We'll need to get past them to get to the Bridge."

_"Shhh!"_

Knight peered around the corner, seeing a Republic soldier being gunned down by Sith heavy gunners. He motioned for Trask to move to cover, who cautiously did so. Watching his step so as not to draw attention, at least until–

_SNAP._

Trask looked down at the broken cabled crushed beneath his foot, exsposed from a section of the hull that had exploded outward. _Oh…you've gotta be kidding me!_

_"Republic soldiers," _A Sith trooper yelled, _"Open fire!"_

_"Ulgo," _Knight brouth the Dragon's stock to his shouler and stepped out of cover. _"GET DOWN!"_

Trask barely made it to cover before the thermal detonator went off, he heard the strangled cries of the Sith troopers before they were incinerated, his heart raced. Two more troopers appeared in front of him. He fired blindly, and screaming, they dodged the fire easily. Knight fired a volley into Sith, a few of the rounds striking the stunned troops and sending them to the ground wounded or dead. The remaining pair recovered before Knight had a chance to reload.

_"Hey."_ They turned to see a large, black suited soldier holding a knife and charging at them.

The two Sith troopers glanceded at each other, smiling behind their masks, and then raised their guns, each fired one shot. The first's fired bolt bounced of Jack's shield, barely doing anything, and was subsequently kneed in his gut. The kinetic force weighed into the strike threw him to the floor, on his hands and knees, struggling to breath. Then Jack stepped over him, and, with one knee belt in the air, planted his knife into his visor, around the area wear the eye would be. As his airborne foot planted, he violently jerked the knife loose.

The second's fire hit Jack point blank in the back were his shield's battery was stored and they immediately went off line, and tried to back step into cover, a moment before he could turn Knight delivered a powerful and rapid jab to his midsection, causing him to bend his upper boudy forwards in reflex. Jack quickly wrapped an arm around the trooper's neck, used the knife's serrated edge to cut open his throat, and then stabbed him in the base of his neck, where his spine met his skull.

_"Get some."_

"Shit…" Trask muttered, watching the death unfold in seemingly slow motion, time didn't catch back up until nearly the entire deck was filled with a pool of blood.

Jack walked over to him, out reached his hand and said, _"Come with me if you want to live."_

Trask grasped it, and he was immediately pulled up. Knight rushed into the billowing smoke and flying sparks. Wide-eyed, Trask rushed after him, blaster held aggressively. The acrid stench of burning electronics choked him as Jack fired into a stunned Sith, before another ion torpedo struck the Spire, knocking him of his feet and onto his back, the hard slam pushing the wind out of him. Trask was right beside him throwing a grenade ahead and helping the larger man to his feet.

_"Thanks,"_ Knight muttered.

Trask nodded while taking a breath and readied another grenade. "You seem to know your stuff, sir. Chiefi must know what he's doing trusting you."

_"Uh, who?"_

"Nickname we have for Captain Onasi. You'll see why when we catch up to him, though he'd be more impressed that you made it through all of these Sith than anything else."

_"I do what I can,"_ Jack replied with a cough, reloading his Dragon_._

With a nod, Trask opened the next door and they were greeted by the sight of two people, a man and a woman, locked in mortal combat with lightsabers.

"Stay back," urged Trask.

_"I'm not particularly sure of staying out of a fight in an all out battle, Ensign. Seems like a poor choice of judgment."_

Knight started forward, but Trask held him back after an exastperated grunt. "We'll just get in the way. That woman was with Bastila Shan, the _de facto_ CO of the Spire." Knight flicked his cold indigo eyes around the corridor watching the fascinating battle before. Him he didn't like watching. He liked _doing_. "I can't believe the Jedi stole Captain Onasi's ship. Damned Jedi, they may be helping us, but that doesn't give them the right to step on us like that. We're supposed to be on the same side."

_"So am I, and you're still alive aren't you?"_

"Different story. You don't throw men out of the chain of command."

"Desperate times, desparate people," Knight shrugged a shoulder. "Variables like those tend to spawn desparate measures."

The two combatants moved with an unearthly grace, raining blows upon each other. The air crackled and hummed with the dance of their weapons. The man, a Dark Jedi, was encased in silver armor except for his shaved head and his weapon was a red beam of light that flickered with deadly energy. The woman facing him in combat was attired in deep orange robes that flowed in sync with her every move. Knight's eyes targeted every and stroke, catching every opening and formuationg a pattern to their movements.

_"Bastila Shan? Is she the Jedi you spoke of?"_

"Yes, her Battle Meditation was what allows us to even stand against the Sith's numerical superiority. Her strike team took down Darth Revan a about two years ago. I thought that would turn the tide, but Revan's apprentice, Malak only picked up where Revan left off."

_"I've done my homework, Ensign,"_ Jack hissed, watching the flashing of red and blue energy beams before his eyes, catching a wrong foot movement that the woman swiftly corrected. Smart girl.

The two Force warriors locked blades, then the Jedi countered, and killed the Sith with a torso gash. As Jack moved forward to continue to the bridge, she looked at him. He paused, time seemed to slow to a near halt, something compelled him to turn and look at her. She smiled at him, a twinkle formed in her eyes, a gleam of hope for…something. He turned to fully face her, and fire and shrapnel engulfed her. He was propelled to the corridor's wall, his helmet's alarm yelling that his shields had been depleted.

"Damn it!" Trask swore, desperately searching for the woman's pulse. "She's gone! We coulda used her help to—"

_"There's nothing you and I could have done for her,"_ He said, slowly bringing himself back onto his feet as the barriers recharged. _"We're here, she's dead, that's it. Now MOVE!"_

"Sir!"

Carth fired a series of rapid shots at two Sith troopers, killing both of them. Two Marines caught phased uranium bolts in their heads; their cratered faces fell to the floor. Carth motioned for two of the other Marines to fall back. He pulled back, opening a bolt door, only to have a turbine explode in front of him, propelling him backwards and ceiling the door shut. He tried to hack it open, failing.

_Oh no…_ He thought. _They're all gonna die. Shit, I hope that Knight gets to them before the Sith, gotta get to the escape pods and initiate the abandon ship protocols._

_"Well, here's the bridge,"_ Knight said, lowering his rifle, _"let's pop her open, Ensign."_

"Whoa! Hang on!" Trask held the Marine back, "The Bridge is a confined area! The Sith would eat us alive in Close Quarters Battle, some of the systems may explode on us and we don't want to blow out the window ports. You might want to use a melee weapon!"

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Knight switched to his knife and opened the door. Sith troopers were finishing off a handful of Republic Marines in the darkened environment, Knight ran up to the Sith closest to him, slammed his knee into his back, and dug his knife into the side of his head. He threw his knife into the visor of one of the Sith troopers charging at him, kicking up the vibro sword that the Sith had been carrying and parried another trooper, then counterattacked by knocking it away and plunging the blade into his side, then pulled it out.

Trask had killed two already, keeping pace with the warring Colonial Marine. In several minutes the room was cleared, and the two men stood breathing heavily, Trask wiped sweat from his brow. He looked around as the Commander withdrew his knife from the cranium of the Sith trooper, he wiped off the blood and brain matter, then sheathed it and swapped for his XMAR. He let no emotion cross over his face as he shot a wounded Sith that was trying to crawl away in his head.

_"Come on," _he said,_ "Lets get the hell outta here_." Knight stared out of the forward port onto the world of Taris. The silver planet below was one giant city of permacrete and steel from pole to pole. Suddenly, Jack became dizzy for a second as the planet spun in his view. He then realized that the Spire was the one spinning out of control. Quickly, he grabbed a few grenades from the fallen troopers and together, they rushed to the starboard aft door. He took a glance about the Bridge.

_Damn it! Why did the Jedi want me here? And where the hell did Onasi go?_ A haze of confusion filled his head and he shook it back and forth, hoping his thoughts would clear._ Ah! It doesn't matter; questions can wait. Let's just get the hell off this boat._

Trask opening the next door interrupted his thoughts. As sparks flew from the ceiling, a pair of powerfully built men stepped forward, clad all in black. One was bald save a black goatee and his eyes radiated fierce hatred while the other was more practical, long hair tied into braids and gaze exuding indifference. Both of them twirled their red lightsabers with the practiced hand of a master. Knight popped his neck and rolled his shoulders; he'd been trained to fight, and even kill, Force wielders while he was on Tharsis during his training, he could kill the men with their own sabers if the opportunity arose, which he hoped.

Trask's eyes grew large. "Heaven help us…" he whispered in horror. Cold sweat ran down his back, staining his clothes. Knight' swallowed hard and pushed his common sense into the back of his mind, and started forward unsheathing his knife.

_"Stand back Trask,"_ Jack said, spinning his knife in his hand. _"This'll take all of a minute."_

The braided man inclined his head and stepped forward, raising his saber. "Bandon, I'll handle this," he muttered to the other man.

"As you wish, Maeliom."

Maeliom turned his attention back to Knight, who twirled his knife in his palm. The Sith warrior brought his sbaer's hilt to his temple and inclined the blade to strike.

_"You know something, Maeliom," _Knight said after a moment of studying his stance. _"I've found a slight flaw in your little move there."_

"Oh? Tell me, Spartan, what is that?" Maeliom lashed out, the point of his saber aimed for Knight's heart. The Spartan side stepped the glowing red beam of energy and used his backward momentum as a spring from his arm, sending his knife into his spine once, twice, three times.

_"I'm faster than you." _He let the dead Sith fall to the floor and turned to the other man. _"You're next, meat."_

Knight's com erupted. _"All survivors, this is Captain Onasi, I'm in the shuttle bay and I'm under fire. Is anyone there? I need support."_

Trask grit his teeth. He clenched his fist around the grip of his vibro-blade until his knuckles were white. He took one furtive step forward and a final decision came to his mind. "The CaptainOnasi needs you. Go! I'll hold him."

"_What? He'll kill you, Ensign, you get to the shuttle bay, I'll_**–**_"_

"No!" Trask exhaled deeply, resolving himself to the inevitable. He quickly grasped his hand and shook it. "I'll die knowing I fought under and with a Raider, and died trying to complete his mission," he said, trying to be dashing. He shoved him back and rushed at the Dark Jedi with a fatalistic determination. A quick press of his hand sent the door slamming down behind him, cutting Knight off from his last battle.

Knight's brow twitched, not quite sure of how to process the event that had just transpoired. The buzz of his CROSS-com tore him from his paralysis. _"Knight, this is Captain Onasi. I can't hold them much longer. You need to hurry. Get to the escape pods. Our chances of getting out of here are dwindling."_

_"One sec, sir, I need to take care of something."_

_"No time! You get over here! That's an order!"_

Torn between helping Trask and obeying orders, Jack tested the door feebly until he heard a terrifying scream beyond.

The scream was cut short.

Knight's eyes grew large and near white with rage. With a hiss, a red bar of a pure energy pierced the metal door, humming and sizzling, creating a river of molten metal that trickled to the floor. He calmly stepped back as the lightsaber slowly cut downward through the barrier. Collecting his thoughts, he forced his heavily armored hand through the molten metal and grasped the other end, and did so again with his free hand.

Darth Bandon smiled to himself in mild amusement as he watched the hands come through the metal, exstinguishing his lightsaber. "You won't reach me in hear, Spartan. Even you can't pry open that door."

_"Is that a challenge? Maybe I'll rip this door open and prove you wrong by pulling your head out of your own ass,"_ the irritated voice on the other side, distorted by some kind of speakers, stated.

Bandon's face twisted into a rage-fill snarl. "I'd like to see you try! Do you know who I am, I'm th-"

A gauntleted fist burst through the dripping metal and struck bandon firmly in his jaw. _"No, I don't know, and I don't particularly give a damn. But because I'm running short on time, I'm going to give you a heads up, . I'm going to turn this flying shitbucket into molten slag, you'd __**best**__ be gone before that happens, unless the idea of death appeals to you. Until we mee again."_

The sound of heavy hoots on plate retreating away from where Bandon was trapped from progression, his features expressing the fuming malice that he held towards the Spartan soldier that had tarnished his ego. Muttering curses under his breath, he turned and began a rapid retreat to his transport, not at all

**...**

The blast door to the passage corridors of the Endar Spire opened and Knight slowly stepped into an empty corridor, his Dragon sweeping the area. _Clear._He thought to himself, as a pipe poured water A video on his Cross-com popped up, and, sure enough, Commander Onasi was there to greet him. The middle-aged man looked relieved to contact him. Republic officers, all talk, but no walk. That's what people get for scraping up the bottom barrel.

"Knight! Where the hell've you been?" He said, the escape pod bay erupting with sparks and plasma fires. "Where's Ulgo? I've been trying to reach him for the past-"

_"Ensign Trask Ulgo's dead, sir," _the all-too-calm voice or the officer, Carth's features paled, _"Killed by a Dark Jedi."_

_"YOU LET AN ENSIGN PILOT FIGHT A DARK JEDI, ALONE!" _The Republic navy-man shouted over the COM link, angered. Jack didn't immediately reply.

_"No, sir, I gave him an order to meet up with you, but he didn't follow it, he ran off to fight him, and sealed the door shut. But I left the Sith a bit of a…parting gift."_

"And what would that be, Commander?" He added quickly, "Dare I ask."

_"Just a small present to send my utmost gratitude for killing my men. I'm in what looks like the armory; any feedback on what I'm walking into would be much appreciated."_

Carth clicked around the ship's cameras, he found the man. He smirked. "Okay, I have you on my monitor. There is a Sith squad up ahead. If you can get to it, there is a combat droid you can reactivate. You gotta hurry," urged Onasi. He watched as the SAWTR looked at the camera.

_"How many?"_

"At least a dozen men, nothing you couldn't normally handle, but their Elite Troopers, Special Forces."

_"Finally, a challenge, I thought I'd be carving my way through this ship like a Kyrat in a Banatha herd. Be about as amus—"_

Before Jack could finish, he turned the next and opened the next door with a slap of the hand on the control. A small squad of red armored Sith troopers turned abruptly and raised weapons, but Jack had already targeted one of them. With a double tap, he dropped the far-right trooper, but others got off their shots and fired Ion Disruptor bolts at the Commander, one got luck and splashed on his shields, they over-heated, and went offline. The other one got even luckier and the supercharged plasma bolt hit him in the arm. Energy splashed over the heavy armor on his bicep, blackening it with carbon soot. White-hot pain tore through his nerves, Jack grit his teeth and he cursed, ducking behind the corner and pressed his back against the wall. Well, so much for the element of surprise. He readied one of his detonators.

"Commander, don't try to use your Thermal Detonators where you're at, the corridor might collapse from the heat. See if you can't use something more—"

Before the Republic man could finish, Knight replaced the detonator with a flash grenade and tossed it at the remaining Elite Troopers. It exploded in a wave of white light, sonic-nitrogen charged magnesium, and a deafening explosion, the dazed troopers stumbled, trying to get their bearings and shouting _"SPARTAN! ALL UNITS, SPARTANS ON BOARD!"_

Cursing at the move, Knight flipped around the corner and sent three rounds of phased uranium rounds into the two remaining Sith. One of them received them in his head, reducing to a crater of smoke; the other got them in the chest. He smirked and retrieved a pouch that was attached to his suit and tool out a med-pack and two adrenal stimulants. The later, much to his discomfort, he put into the wound on his arm, and the former he placed in with it to speed up the healing process. He roared with frustration and pain, but he had to do it or he'd be killed if he wasn't on the top of his game. _"Onasi, what's your current location?"_

_"Escape pod chamber, about twenty-two meters from your location,"_ The aging Republic officer said, a stern edge in his failing courageous voice. _"Get here as quickly as you can! Sith troopers are headed directly your way."_

Knight smirked beneath his helmet. _"Let them come."_

He cut the line, and turned a corner and swept the area. It was clear, but he set a few laser proximity-mines behind him incase anyone tried to flank him. He found the disable droid and took out his repair kit and brought it back to operational status. A message popped up on his HUD that read:

**Fualk Industries Mark IV Assault Droid Operational; Awaiting Issue Commands.**

Tapping in a few keys and uploading a few more repair protocols, Knight brought up its patrol mode and activated its weapon systems, and selected the ACTIVATE REPAIRS command.

With a buzz and a whir, the droid came online. And with a series of beeps, the droid went on to do its job. The door shot open to reveal a room filled with six Elite Troopers led by a Lieutenant. With lightning quick reactions, the droid gunned down one trooper before the Sith could even react. Knight ducked in with it, instinctively diving for cover behind a table and hurled a fragmentation grenade into the midst of the squad; a blast sounded and blotted out all other sounds, muffeled screams and blaster shots echoed throughout the room. The droid swept away three of the Elite Troopers as Knight emptied the last burst of his clip into one as others came pouring in, one thing about droids were that when they were programmed to do something, it's damned hard to keep up with them. But he liked a challenge. The remaining ten Sith poured fired into the droid as it stomped about, even more coming into the room. An explosion errupted from the room behind him, coupled with the screams of pain and death of Sith soldiers who wandered too close to the explosive mines that

_Where do these guys come from, an assembly line?_ Bolts exploded on its armored hide, but its rampage continued, unabated. It shot another trooper multiple times sending him down in a spray of plasma and blood. By this time, the droid had taken heavy damage and gaping holes could be seen in its metal skin. Two grenadiers stuck plasma grenades to the metal death clock, Knight took a moment to leap from his close proximitay to the safety of the outside wall as the explosives went off magnificently, the super-heated materials within melting away the plated floor and walls and ceiling, causing the area to bench inwards and outwards; but still, the droid stood, crippled and firing widly in random directions, but standing.

As it stumbled, the Lieutenant leapt at it with a sword. The Sith hammered the droid in the skull and sparks flew from its metal head. As the droid crumpled like a puppet with its string cut, Knight popped up and punched the lieutenant with such force; it knocked the officer over a table with a crash, and into the half-melted wall. Dead from a crushed skull, Knight turned again to the heavy repeater fire. A collection of pipes above the remaining Sith ETs become unstable and popped free of their fixings, but not enough to fall and kill them, Knight shot at them and they toppled over and crushed the Troopers. They died with a yell of pain and terror.

_"That hurt, I'll bet."_

Breathing heavily, the adrenaline fueled SAWTR officer quickly pocketed a useful few items and rushed through the far door. He ran down the corridor to a corner and saw a Republic officer shoot two Sith Eltes with a blaster pistol.

_"Now _this _guy has a death wish, for sure," _Knight said under his breath, empting two uranium phased plasma bolts into the heads of two firing Sith troopers.

"Hurry! This way!" the man called urgently as the enemy soldiers crashed to the deck. Knight recognized the voice of Commander Onasi, before he was hit in the knee by and Ion round. Knight sprinted toward him and unceremoniously flung him into an escape pod. He looked back to fire at the last two Elite Troopers in the corridor and ducked into the support beam.

Knight dipped his hand into one of his ammunition puches and brought out a small baseball-sized device. He tapped a few buttons, and then a pleasant, calm female voice said:

**_"Monolith Class Cylicos Explosive Amrament activated, please select detonation mo—"_**

Knight tapped in another command, then another, firing blind rounds down to the entrance of the escape pod bay. After a moment the device beeped, and the voice said:

**_"Remote detonation mode selected. Arming code entered, processing…_**bleep. **_Dreadnaught online, Cylicos core set to one third of minimum charge. Warning: This system will self-destruct upon one half of an hour should the detonation remote not be triggered."_**

Knight tossed the device at the group of approaching Sith before leaping in behind Commander Onasi as he punched the separation button with a slap of his palm. The hatch sealed and the pod was blasted into space.

Onasi squirmed in the tight confines in an atempt to find a comfortable sitting position. "Sorry Lit-Com, these pods are pretty small. Bastila has already escaped."

"Quite alright, sir, reminds me of Orbital Drop Shock Training on Tharsis. Chief Commander Onasi, I presume?" he said between pants, keying commands into his wrist computer. His helmet cooed and retracted to reveile his powerfully featured head.

"That's correct, Commander Knight," The armored figure nodded. "Damn these Sith, how did they find us? Our security must have been compromised. I was always concerned about spies and traitors in our ranks," Onasi fumed.

Knight grunted. "Paranoid much?"

"Kept me alive so far."

Suddenly, the pod began to bounce violently. Knight released an anxious laugh.

"Atmosphere reentry" said Onasi calmly, "The inertial dampeners will brace the landing."

"Didn't think it'd be so short, better activate the Dreadnaught," Knight tapped in the detonation code for his nuke, and heard a sharp screech, then an explosion that rocked the pod. Carth cursed and demanded to know what happened.

"Just a little farewell, sir," the SAWTR replied, closing his eyes for some much needed sleep. "Just a little one…"

* * *

**_A/N: Thus begins my first forray into the shitstorm of KOTOR fiction. I've done a fair amount of research and played the game, a great many time. I don't take a narrow view of what is KOTOR, but I do try to stay within the bounds of the plot and characters. I hope it works for you. Try to keep an open mind. If something seems off, let me know. All I ask is that you back it up. I'll probably change it unless I have a specific reason to write it that way. All I ask is that you keep it professional and avoid personal attacks. If you can't, read something else._**

**_The character's name and profession are as I put in for my run(s) in the game. He's an officer in the Department of Special Assault Warefare Tactics and Reconnaissance (SAWTR) of the Spartan Union Marine Corps (SUMC), initially I was going to refer to them as Spracians, but I decided against it. SAWTRs are more often than not called 'Raiders', one of best Special Forces soldiers in the galaxy, but I'll dive into those a little later on._**

**_MAJOR SPOILER ALERT! - As I have read the anti-Mary Sue threads out there, my character will begin as being a bit too perfect—albeit ALL perfect—but as we know, it's a programmed personality, so why not create it as being perfect and obedient, and him being part of the SF group from an race of Neizchean Ubermen named after the greatest military in human history. This will definitely change and unravel, but it will take time, lots of it. You'll see little clues as to his true personality poking through_**.

-Jake Leake


	2. Chapter I: Morning Sickness

**_A hero has faced it all: he need not be undefeated, but he must be undaunted."_  
-Andrew Bernstein**

**_"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer."_**  
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

**"And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can."**  
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

* * *

**"Morning Sickness"  
Unknown Date/Time  
****LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Ramshackle Apartment, Taris Upper City**

_Awaiting uplink to:_

_SPARTAN UNION MARINES SPECIAL OPERATIONS DIVISION - __DEPARTMENT OF SPECIAL ASSAULT WARFARE TACTICS AND RECONNAISSANCE_

_Area: Headquarters_

_Branch: Staff and Operative Service Records._

_Uplink successful._

_Processing service file request for: Captain Onasi, Carth T. – Republic Navy_

_Subject: Lieutenant Commander Knight, Jackson M. – 5th Platoon, Tasker Company, 506th Battalion, 1st (Tasker's) Raiders Regiment_

_Analyzing request…Approved for Chief Commander Onasi, Carth T. – Republic Navy_

**_WARNING: Sensitive data and/or data regarding non-specified purposes has been labeled as classified and cannot be seen without permission from Spartan Union Admiralty and/or the Spartan Union Fleet Admiral._**

_Begin download of service history…_

Carth's eyes widen as he skims over the file of the SAWTR operative. _Mother of God…What the hell is this kid made of?_

Lieutenant Commander Jack Knight thrashes about in a dilapidated old bed with a stained mattress. His heart races in his chest like the engine of a swoop bike. Concerned, Carth hurries to his side, dipping a washrag into a bucket of cool water and ringed it out.

* * *

A young woman with auburn hair wields a lightsaber against a hooded man with a mask. The woman's orange robes swirl around her with her circular movement. The man's gray tunic is form fitting with dark gray pectorals. His lightsaber glows red, casting a glow in the darkness. A look of determination is fixed on the woman's face as she swirls her lightsaber about her body. She moves her blade high, feinting to draw her enemy off balance and he takes the bait, raising his weapon to parry. She moves in low and, with two precise blows, she slashes the Dark Jedi. Energy sizzles on flesh and the man falls to the deck, smoke roiling from his wounds.

* * *

Just as Carth lays the folded length of cloth on his forehead, Knight's eyes snap open. On instinct Knight lunges at Carth, knocking the wind out of him in the process; they land with a thud on the hard durasteel floor, Knight reaches for and draws the boot-knife hidden on his ankle and holds the razor sharp edge to Carth's throat.

"Whoa! Whoa! It's me, son!" The Republic navy man brings his hands up in surrender, swallowing hard and focused on the knife inches from his eye. "Same side, remember?" Slowly Knight catches his breath, heart slamming against his chest in a seemingly desperate attempt of escape. When he came to grips with reality he stood up, and looked around. A dream…or a memory…? He cradles his forehead in his hands, and looks at Carth lying on the floor as if he had just noticed him. He outstretches a hand to help him up. "Sorry about that sir."

"Good to see you, too," Onasi says.

Knight, throat plagued by drought, greedily gulps some water from a nearby glass. "What happened? How long have I been out?"

Putting down the pistol he was working on, Carth places a hand on his forehead and takes his pulse. "About two weeks. You got knocked unconscious when the pod crashed. I was able to drag you away before anyone arrived. The damn Sith have taken over the planet. They're searching for Bastila."

"Thanks for pulling me out of the fire."

"Don't mention it. I wouldn't leave anyone behind if I could help it. That is something I've always tried to live by. Besides, Bastila specifically chose you to accompany her on this mission so you must be important."

"What exactly is the mission?"

Onasi's expression soured. "She didn't tell you? Hmmm…She requested you, and thereby your unit, personally and you were brought on board at the last minute. Well, it's not my place to tell you then as it's highly classified. Besides, our fleet was compromised by some security leak. This mission should have been over by now. Our codes may have been broken or it may have been a spy. I can't take a chance." Carth eyed his companion with a hint of suspicion.

"Are you questioning my loyalties, sir?" asked Knight, turning to face the Republic officer.

"Well Knight, not to be taken harshly but we just met. We'll see what happens," he says, putting out the palm of his hand to end the direction of the conversation. "Okay, enough of this. We have to find Bastila quickly. We can still complete the mission if we find her. I calculated the trajectory of her pod and she has to be within twenty kilometers of us. Based on my limited intelligence, I don't think she's in the Upper City."

Knight frowns, his brow creasing. Situations like this were bound to happen, but he needed to know everything. "What do you know?"

Carth shrugs. "Not much, the planet of Taris is one big metropolis, divided into an upper, lower, and under city. I secured us an apartment in an older part of the Upper City where most of the business takes place and did some asking around during the past couple days. From the little I know, the Lower City is run by violent swoop gangs, as they're called. The government has no control there. The Under City is even worse."

His motor functions still stiff and shaky from days of uneasy sleep, Knight favored his left leg and leaned against the wall. Shaking his head and rubbing blearily at his eyes with one hand, he looks around to get his bearings. A bowl of water and a damp towel lay on the nightstand from when Carth nursed him, his armor and rifle rested patiently on a work bench in front of a tall window overlooking the skyline, the rest was what he assumed was a kitchen, a sitting area and other basic items scattered around the room. The Lieutenant Commander pushed himself to a standing position. After taking a few shaky steps and nearly collapsing, Carth put a hand under his arm and on his shoulder to help steady him, prompting Knight to raise a hand to wave him off, and continued to the bathroom and stepped into the shower.

As the water sprayed over the tall, powerfully built man, he felt increasingly invigorated with every passing moment. He releases a heavy sigh, letting the images of the dream fade with each falling drop. The uncomfortable feeling of imbalance in his body left him; rolling his shoulders he reaches for the shaving cream, pressed the tab on the canister and began rubbing the blue gel into fine white foam.

Carth's voice sounded from the other room, somewhat drowned out by the shower. "I'm curious, Knight, why did Bastila request you for this mission?"

"Insurance?" Knight said, he chuckles while holding the razor away from his face. He vaguely made out the sound of the Republic man's laugh. "Hell if I know sir. I just show up."

"It just seems strange. In short, the Jedi take over the ship, Bastila requests you to be added to our ship at the last minute, our covert mission then becomes compromised, and you survive."

Before drawing the first pass over his face, Knight took a moment to wet the blade. "Would you rather I hadn't survived?"

"No, no…it's not that. I just…it just seems so…convenient."

Knight felt a frown tighten his face as he wipes away the fog on the mirror. "Well sir, I just show up and usually orders are passed on form there. But right now, instinct is telling me we should focus on finding Bastila and complete this unknown mission."

"You're right, I apologize. On a positive note, I suppose I can see why Bastila wanted you. Your qualifications are impressive: highest officer efficiency rating in your regiment, incredible language proficiency, amazing technical scores, I could go on." Carth had looked through his record. Knowing everything he could about any potential friend, or traitor, had become an obsession of his.

"All things duly noted, sir," Knight said. "But honors and decorations only carry on so far. I don't have any solid memories prior to waking up on the Spire during the attack." Knight takes a threadbare towel from the rack and starts to dry himself off. He didn't like this amnesia, it left him feeling unsettled; like a back-door plot element amateur writers used to make someone interesting. He remembered scattered events. He remembers boarding the Spire, eating with his platoon in the mess hall, filing reports to Command, everything routine he'd done for of a quarter of a century; and it was all so…fake. There was no natural movement of his actions, they were almost mechanized.

And not in the standardized convention, either.

"Fair enough," Carth pursed his lips. He understood, getting banged up in his time in two wars. He couldn't imagine how many the Raider had fought. "Don't worry. You took a nasty bump. It'll come back to you." He sighed and double checked his belt load of grenades and blaster power magazines.

Knight wiped the last of the cream from his skin, leaving a thin strip of hair on his chin, and stepped back into the main room feeling clean and refreshed. He grabs his suit's leggings and began to systematically dawn his armor.

"Sir, once we find Bastila, then what?"

"Well Knight, that's a good question. The Sith fleet surrounds the planet and only Bastila knows the full extent of the mission. Her command of the Force is impressive, so I suppose she'll know what to do. Hey, I'm only an officer, remember."

Knight linked up the HUD on his helmet to run a few tests to determine any damage done to his bicep plate, which would compromise the ballistic protection of his armor. "A good one, if what I've been told is true." He recalled Trask's words, and stepped out of the bathroom as he pulled a white under-shirt over his head. Carth averted his eyes away from the granite-carved physique of the Spartan Marine.

"Haha, very smooth, Commander...But those Jedi...I hear that the Force can do terrible things to a person. It can destroy one's identity and personality. I shudder to think how the Sith use it. Well, I'm just glad we escaped from the Spire. You kept your head pretty good up there."

"It helped that the friendly-neighborhood hero was in my ear telling me about the several Sith I ran into," Knight mused, recalling some of the desperate battle aboard the Spire. "I've become rather fond of not getting shot."

Carth smiled bitterly, remembering his first few flirts with death. He then thought of more recent encounters and he bared his teeth. "Glad to see I was more of an aid rather than a hindrance. Those Sith bastards deserve nothing less than death." His anger was obvious and the Spartan had an undisclosed feeling something gnawed at his soul.

"So, seeing as how Bastila is MIA for the moment, I take it you're next in command?" Knight moved to the work bench to work on his rifle.

"Well...Er," Carth scratched at the back of his neck. "Actually, that would be you. Sir."

Knight, running a cleaning cloth through the disassembled barrel of his rifle. "I'm three ranks under you."

Carth scoffed. "As far as I care to see it, I'm technically four ranks under _you_." Knight didn't turn around, he just rolled his shoulders. "Sir, you've been the fall-back for this mission since Bastila requested your presence. But I don't think that memo ever got to you."

"No," Knight shook his head, sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. But if I'm in charge from here-on-out, then our fist objective should be to find Bastila."

"Yes, we shouldn't waste any more time. Let me do a quick inventory first," he answered. Carth wielded two blaster pistols, one of which had a modified power cell and a computer-assisted optical targeting sight. He had accumulated a number of fragmentation and concussion grenades as well as a rare permacrete detonator, useful for destroying buildings and even armored vehicles. "I got this from a hard-pressed merchant nearby while you were out. Apparently the Sith are having a negative impact on the economy here. This'll bring down a building in a pinch," he told her, showing her the detonator.

Knight took out his last Cylocos charge. "This will bring down the planet, 'in a pinch'," he half joked.

They hid their weapons beneath light cloaks and Carth nodded to Knight. "Okay, are you ready, sir?"

The Spartan nodded, and at the same time opened the apartment door and his eyes grew with dismay. Their rescue attempt could be over before it began. Four Sith troopers stood with an Captain, yelling at two unarmed Duros. The Duros bulbous head, gray skin, and big green eyes betrayed their fear. Ugnaughts scurried out of the way, not wanting to confront the Sith.

Knight squeezed his eyes shut. _Just my fucking luck…_

"Alien slime! Up against the wall," shouted the officer. The Sith troop exuded an attitude of ultimate superiority.

One of the Duros backed up against the wall, but the other stayed, facing the City. The bold one shouted out in protest, almost insane with despair. The other made a move to shut his friend up, but he was too late. With an expression of glee, the captain fired his blaster rifle into the Duros, killing him instantly. Knight glanced at Carth, and waved his hand in an order to stand down. The Sith then turned, seeing them standing there. "What do you want, dogs? Do you want to die too?"

Carth glanced about, checking to see if any other Sith were about. The man was becoming more agitated and unreasonable by the second. "On your knees, hand behind your heads!" the Sith raged, brandishing his rifle.

"Well?" Carth whispered. "What now?"

"Let me handle this." Knight replied, eying the Sith officer. Finally, he waved to his men. "Sergeant, arrest them all!"

The Sith trooper cuffed Knight first. Grabbing his right wrist, before noticing it was covered by an armored brace. "What the h—"

Knight moved in a blur. Turning his arm about he grabbed the Sith trooper's upper arm and flipped him over his shoulder, slamming him on his back on the ground. In a fluid motion, Knight drew his knife with his right hand and stabbed the trooper through his gut, lurching at the force behind the blow; his left hand reached for his side arm on his right hip, drew and rapidly fired two shots from his side arm at the two other troopers who stood by not fully understanding what they were witnessing. Both shots from the pistol caught each of the in the chest, tearing through their armor and decimating their vital circulatory organs. With desperate realization, the Sith Captain raised his rifle at Carth, but the Duros jumped him from behind with a hidden daggar as Carth shot the other trooper, point blank. The Duros stabbed his antagonist in the back, enraged by the killing of his friend. As the Captain screamed and flailed, Carth drew his own dagger and plunged it into the Sith's neck.

"Down you go, Sith bastard," grunted Carth, withdrawing the bloody blade. Without another word, he rolled the bodies over and gathered up the Sith equipment. "We've got to hide this. Another patrol will come looking soon," Carth urged through labored breathing.

_"Thank you, human! You saved my life,"_cried the Duros in a croaking voice, _"Those Sith dogs would have killed me for sure."_

"All in the same boat, I would've been blindsided by those other two, thanks for covering my ass," offered Knight. Carth checked the fallen Duros, but he was past any help. He looked up at Knight and shook his head.

The Duros knelt by his friend and his bulbous eyes held a deep sorrow. _"Poor Ixgil, he hated the Sith too much. They destroyed his business. Yes, we must hide the bodies. I'll make it look like the work of the swoop gangs."_

The surviving Duros, Itxar, dragged one of the bodies down the bare duracrete hall and the two Republic soldiers followed suit. With the help of Itxar's friends they placed the corpses on a lower floor and Itxar staged the death scene with items associated with one of the swoop gangs, the Black Vulkars. Again, the Duros thanked them. _"You best go on, humans. Take care of yourselves. I won't forget your kindness."_

Knight and Carth walked quickly away, glad that this part of the apartments seemed to be abandoned.

"What the hell was that?' Carth nearly yelled, once the crowd had died out a little.

"What the hell was what?"

He pointed at the slain Sith. "_That_! You killed three Sith commandos with hardly a pause for breath! Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"Practice, I guess?" Knight shrugged. "Six hours a day for a few years and eventually you just point and click and that's were the shots go."

"Still, that was helluva show," Carth laughed. "Those Sith deserved every bit of it."

Knight didn't respond, a little disturbed by Carth's obvious hatred of the Sith. Sure, they were at war with all of the galaxy, but Carth was letting this become personal, and that could put both their lives at risk. His venom was far beyond reason. As they made their way through the apartments, Carth had a thought. "We need to go by aliases here or the Sith will find us for sure. We need to think of some type of cover."

Knight grinned mischievously. "Okay, we could play father and son. You've got the gray for it"

Carth's face clouded over. "No! No, we'll be business associates." He obviously resented the idea.

"Just a joke, Onasi, I hit a nerve?" Knight asked at the sudden rebuff.

"No, it's nothing…never mind. Just do as I ask," he replied curtly and walked ahead, his boots clicking on ancient tile.

Knight smirked and shook his head. There was something dark in Carth's heart. He could feel it even more strongly now. She caught up to him and continued. "Carth, you okay?"

The Chief winced with a big sigh. "It's nothing against you or anything that you've done. I've been through more than my share of wars and I don't get close to anyone. You happy now?"

"I'm sorry. If it would help, I'm willing to sit and listen," offered Knight as they walked through the hallways. "Granted I'm no Freud, but I can throw in my take."

"Hrmph…Fair enough," he said, seemingly resigned to talking. But, he supposed that if they were going to trust each other he was going to need to break a few dams to build bridges. He sighed. "Seven years ago, the Mandalorians invaded Republic space. Like many others, I was sent to fight them. I came up through the officer ranks as a pilot and flew against the Mandies in many campaigns. We lost a lot of good people in that war, but I was fortunate. I learned a lot about fighter combat in the Weapons School and it saved my bacon more times than I can count." Carth's expression became thoughtful and he developed a faraway look in his brown eyes.

"When I worked as a Flight Lieutenant, I was an Operations Officer and saw the end of the wars. We thought it was all over…all the fighting…all the death. It caused us to let our guard down. As you know, we were betrayed," he said, suddenly seething. "The Mandalorians fought hard and were considered savage, but they were nothing compared to the senseless slaughter inflicted by the Sith…so much death…" he trailed off. "Ahh, look, I appreciate you wanting to help, sir, but I'd rather not talk about it. Most of our troops are so very young…I hate to see how this war taints our children."

Carth's emotions had just been on a roller coaster and he had had enough for the moment. Knight put a hand on his shoulder and shook it. "I can understand that," he acknowledged with a grin, and walked on ahead. Carth stared after the lone Spartan, wondering what thoughts could be going through his mind before realizing he was falling behind. He stepped into a quick jog and caught up with the man. As they rounded the curve of the hall, both of them saw a Twi'lek male setting up a kiosk in front of a room. The man's skin was green and two spongy protrusions, known as lekku, sprang from the top of his head and wrapped around his neck.

"Good morning," he said in accented basic when he saw them eying the stand, "Welcome to Larrim's."

"I take it you're Larrim," mused Carth.

"Yes I am. I run the only Twi'lek shop in this part of the Upper City. I managed to get a hold of the best energy shields on the planet before the Sith blockaded us. Would you like to see them?"

Knight turned his head to the side slightly. "Why are you the only Twi'lek? Is it because of the Sith?"

"No, but they made the situation worse. Shhh, don't tell anyone I said that," he whispered, leaning close to them. "I have to watch my mouth these days. The Taris Government doesn't particularly like non humans… I was one of the few to get a permit, but now I'm the only one left." Larrim looked about, making sure no one overheard him. "Anyway, what do I know of politics. Here's one of those energy shields I spoke of."

Carth took a look at it and examined it in his hand. "Very nice. Can we get two?"

"Yes, of course. I charge one hundred credits a piece."

"Here you go," said Carth as he handed Larrim the silver slips.

The commander took one and tied it to his shoulder. "This baby shields you from energy attacks such as one from a blaster. The Sith used them against us a year ago and it gave them a decided edge. We had to resort to hand weapons to counter them."

Knight tossed his around in his hand a moment to get a feel for the weight. "Looks more like a piece of molded plastic, I doubt this thing could hold up to a long dart."

Carth scoffed. "Well, they do the trick for us, you don't want it, I'll sure as hell will take it."

"I take it these don't fair well against bladed and melée weapons?"

"Exactly. We've modified our blasters to compensate, but the pendulum has swung back to edged and impact weapons. The shield won't stop those."

"Well, I'll stick to my DRACOONs, thank you," Knight tossed him the shield. "At least until the techies build a better suit."

Carth smirked. "You got it."

Larrim thanked them for the business and told her that Sith patrols were all over the upper city. Apparently, they were searching for something or someone after the Republic ship was captured. Larrim surmised that several important Republic officials had escaped the recent space battle and were on the run.

Knight took a careful notice that Carth seemed a bit impatient and they bid Larrim goodbye before continuing down the curving hall. The apartment complex was huge, consisting of winding corridors and confusing stairways. Eventually, they walked onto a section of floor that was a bit damp and they heard a man yell.

"Hey, I just mopped that area! Watch where you're stepping."

Knight turned to see an elderly man with a bucket of water. His bristly white eyebrows were furrowed in dismay. Both he and Carth looked at each other and then at the floor. Sure enough, the floor was glossy with cleaner and they easily spotted the prints left by their boots.

"My apologies," Knight bowed his head. "I wasn't aware anyone was working here."

The man immediately softened at his words. "Oh, okay…no harm done. I'm Kadir, the janitor. I know everyone in Taris Renaissance Apartments. You're new around here."

"Why yes, that we are," Carth said, outstretching his hand.

Kadir smiled back, and took it into a handshake. "This must be your son?"

"No," groused Carth, "I'm Carth Endar. We're—"

"Buisness partners," Knight cut in. "Private security, for the most part. Jack Spire, we're trapped here because of the Sith quarantine." Knight noticed how Carth resented any inference of a connection between them. As if that was going to be a problem.

"Oh, you and many others. Sorry to hear that, sirs," offered Kadir sincerely.

Kadir was able to tell them that the Sith had incaded Taris over night and soon thereafter, took control of the planet's government. They had sent patrols down to the lower city, but the swoop gangs were proving to be a bit of a problem; casualties were coming back up to the Upper City regularly.

"Just a bunch of young thugs running rampant with their swoop bikes. In my day, order was the norm," Kadir complained.

Knight nodded. "Well thank you Mister Kadir. I appreciate your time. We'll be careful of your floor from now on."

"Don't mention it, my friend. I'll be sure to keep your area spotless. Least I could do for a nice big tank like you."

**Administrative Building Approach — The Cities of Taris — The Upper City — LTCDR Jack Knight — 00:10:67 (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)**

As the two Republic soldiers emerged from the apartments onto the walkways of the upper city, Knight took a moment to admire the tall spires and graceful skyline of the city. Clouds hung in the air with a gentle breeze, some of fluffy white masses surrounding the massive silver towers of duracrete and transparisteel. Breathing in the fresh air, they strode down the walkway into the sunlight.

Carth stretched his arms, enjoying the warmth of the Taris sun and chuckled at Kadir's words. "'Tank', huh? I like that. That's what I'll call you," he said, using some humor. "You're fine with that, aren't you, Tank?"

"As long as I can call you 'The Mule'."

"Touché," Carth chuckled again, actually enjoying the conversation for once. "It's good we can keep a sense of humor here."

"Aye," Knight nodded. "It seems we have a bit of a walk to get to the Administrative Building."

"That we do," Carth nodded, his head only coming to the Spartan's shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"You seemed a little on edge back there, Onasi," Knight said. "You plan on telling me what's wrong?"

"Look, would will you just drop it?" Carth snapped, his brow drawn angrily, taking an unexpected offense. The mood instantly changed. "You can hang onto something tighter than a Firaxa Shark."

Knight stopped and turned, his face stern but not angry. "I'm just trying to help, and _you_ have got something nasty gripping your _chatch_ and it's starting to affect your judgement, and your attitude."

The Commander bit right back at the Raider. "Look, Knight, this isn't a fucking simulation. This is real life. Get it? I'm under a bit of stress having lost the Endar Spire and with the end of the Republic at hand. You know, small things like that. Nothing you'd understand," he retorted with some sarcasm of his own.

"And I just lost my whole platoon, likely my best friend being amoungst them, and half of the Union probably thinks I'm dead," Knight pressed a finger into Cath's chest. "So maybe I'll just leave and let you wallow in self-pity."

Carth sighed. He knew he had gone too far. "Okay, wait," he called. "I'm sorry. Really…It's just that I have a hard time trusting anyone…. Since this damn war and all. I don't have it in me anymore."

Knight put his hands on his hips and loosened his posture a bit leaning his weight on his forward most leg. Taking a breath, he spoke, "I understand. The war is not going well. Not as well as I'd like it to be at any rate, believe me I'm just as busted up as you are about what happened on the Spire, but I handle grief a great deal differently than you do. And don't be sorry," Knight looked up and smiled, patting a hand behind his head. "It's good to get these kinds of things out in the open. Keeps you from punching your CO's in the face."

"Personnal expirence?" Carth quiped.

"On both ends of the blow, yes."

With a scoffing laugh, Carth sat on a bench and looked down. Knight could see the bitterness in his face, hear it in every word that he spoke now. "I…We have been betrayed so many times. You probably already know this, but during the last war, Revan was a great hero. He led our forces to astounding victories over the Mandalorians. I never met him, but he embodied everything the Spartans stand for…everything the Republic idealizes. His strategic and tactical abilities were unmatched and he never lost a battle until his death."

"A true embodiment of the Spartan Vanguards. The Republic refugees talked all about him when I was deployed in the Abyss," Knight shook his head and sat next to him. Carth nodded solemnly.

Carth took a breath. "After the Mandalorian Wars, he and Malak disappeared; no one knew where to. We searched for a time, but there was no trace of them. A year later, they returned…changed…evil," he said. Then, his face pinched up and his jaw clenched tight. "They betrayed us, and a third of the Republic fleet went to their side including many Jedi. They knew all of our tactics and equipment. Revan's phenomenal memory allowed them to know about nearly every defense…every trick we had. The Republic was thrown into a panic. From what I was told, they somehow became corrupted by the legacy of this fallen Jedi, Exar Kun. Since then, they were somehow able to gather unbelievable resources and a vast fleet well beyond any known manufacturing capability. They replaced losses overnight."

He looked up into the blue sky. "There was a time when I had wanted to serve Revan personally, now I'm just glad he's dead and rotting somewhere…" Carth trailed off as if lost in thought. A deep sigh escaped his dry lips.

"As much of a hero as Revan was, Carth, he was still one man," Knight propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, cupping his hands together. "A man my father trained him to be."

Carth snapped his head in Knight's direction. "You mean you—"

"Revan was one of the last Vanguards my father trained," Knight said sadly. "Much to the displeasure of several high-ranking _Jed'ra Maistrey_. Revan was as much my friend as he was a hero to the Republic, and he will forever be."

"Well, regardless, that's all I have to say," Carth snorted.

Knight cast an astoundingly well-practiced 'bullshit' look at the Republic officer. "There's something else, Carth, I can see it on your face."

He grunted sourly. "It's nothing. Let it go. You have a way of setting people at ease…getting them to relax their guard. I won't be fooled though. C'mon, we have to go…_Tank_," Carth finished with a little levity to change the subject. Timely deflections were a skill he had mastered and he was not about to change now.

Knight grinned lightly. "If you ever need to talk…I'm here."

"Thanks," Carth said, diverting any further attention from himself. A thought struck the aging man and he looked at Knight again, curious. There was something that he had said that intrigued him. "Revan was rather young for a Vanguard, wasn't he?"

"That would depend on which end of the spectrum you'd classify 'young'. For standard humans, Revan was well into his seventies and fastly approaching eighty; for a Spartan, he was hardly considered thirty."

"I can't imagine so much power in one so young," Carth said, gaining a nod from the Raider. "I heard he slew Mandalore himself in single combat and he didn't even break a sweat."

Knight laugh, a rugged and hearty sound. "He did have a rather nasty habit of being a slight anti-climactic."

"Hrmph…he'd be your age now," Carth said with some admiration. Then, his expression turned dark. "He was the worst kind of traitor."

"That depends on your definition of 'traitor', Chief."

"Oh? What makes you say that? He destroyed the Republic, turned our allies against us—"

"Revan was no fool, he took that off of me and my father. He could _know _the explanation of things without them being apparent. He knew something was wrong with the Mandalorian Wars, and he knew that he and Malak were meant to fight it, without the aid of the Union at his back, and _that_ is something. Revan loved the Republic, and there is no reason, not greed or power lust or spite or anything, that could have ever turned him against the people he swore on pain of outcast to defend with his life."

"Figures you'd side with your own kind."

"Carth, I'm not Revan. I won't let you down. I swear," Knight told him earnestly.

"I'd like to believe that, but we'll see. It's not in my nature to trust anyone and neither should you. I'm keeping my eye on you," he informed him with his usual suspicion.

"As you wish."

They walked in strained silence along a broad parkway for some time until three drunken men staggered toward them, heading toward the apartments.

"Hey schlummies! Man, where'd you get those awful clothes?" cackled one well dressed man.

"We'll just whoop ya right here. Get back to your Undercity where you belong!" barked another, shaking his fist.

Carth's hand went inside his robe and grasped his vibrodagger. "Oh, this is rich," he muttered, he had been spoiling for a fight since he plunged his dagger into the Sith captain and he was ready to rumble.

Knight smiled at them despite their hostility, waving Carth down. "Hey boys, let's not get angry. Let me buy you all a drink." His voice was calm and soothing and he held his hands out in a show of peaceful intent.

One drunkard focused his eyes on the towering Spartan. "Huh? Hey, this schlummie is nice…and fuckin' _huge_, too! Yah, buy us a drink, yah Tank."

"We can't!" slobbered the third drunk, "My wife will kick my ass. It's morning already! I'm already late."

"Oh…oh yah. Well, thanks anyway, big guy. Catch ya later."

As the drunks staggered off, Carth breathed a sigh of relief and released his dagger. "I was ready to take them down, but you handled those knuckleheads pretty well."

"Is that a thanks? You're welcome," Knight said with a mischievous grin. His white teeth and dark blue eyes coupled with the wrinkles on his face gave him a fatherly look in the light of the morning.

Carth smirked with a snorted laugh. "Don't mention it, Tank."

"Watch it, Onasi," Knight said, gaining a roar of laughter from the man next to him.

Taking a shortcut to the squat Administration Building, they went down a long alley, shadowed by the tall spires; this seemed to be a route less traveled. On a poorly lit overhang, Knight saw a human and a Rodian, seemingly upset with a third, elderly man. The Rodian held the old man savagely by the throat. As they passed closer, the three noticed the passing soldiers. The scaly Rodian held a pistol as his large black eyes glistened with irritation.

"What are you looking at, filth?" Snarled the human thug.

Knight stopped short. The scene got his attention and he did not like what he saw. "We're just passing by. What's going on here?"

The dark man scowled, signaling his violent intent. "None of your business! Just pass on…and quickly."

At that, the elderly man cried out. "Please help me! They'll kill me!" he pleaded, putting his hands together. His face was full of fear.

Carth grunted. "I don't want to make a scene, but we can't just leave this guy," he said as his hand went instinctively under his ratty cloak, finding the butt of his pistol. His fingers found the thumb strap and quietly undid it, freeing the weapon to his grasp.

Knight could sense the old man's desperation and stepped forward, looking between the he and the thug, staring hard at the Rodian, signaling his intent to stand his ground. "Leave that man alone." He carefully grasped the grip of his Dragon, thumbing the safety.

The Rodian growled. "Davik will have you're heads!" he shouted in his sing-song language as he drew a pistol.

Anticipating the fight, Carth drew and fired a shot, just missing the Rodian, who dove for cover. Tracking his movement, Knight aimed ahead of the diving alien and fired a shot, striking him in the leg. As the bolt burst upon him, the Rodian howled in pain and crashed to the ground, firing blindly in return.

Simultaneously, the man ran to the side, firing at random, sending bolts streaking by. A stray shot flew toward Knight's head, but was absorbed by his shields, regardless he ducked behind a dumpster near by. The flash blinded him momentarily, but the energy shields had saved his life yet again. Unable to see, he waited a few moments before continuing the fight. Without the help of vision, he'd do more harm than good

As the Raider's vision began to return Carth pulled his dagger and charged the man, catching him off-guard and sending the bladed into his gut. The man doubled over and with a follow up stroke, he split his head open and he fell to the ground twitching. Using the opportunity, Knight leaped over the bench where the Rodian hid. Carth's fire was keeping the thug's head down and he did not see the some-thousand-kilo leap beside him. When the Rodian noticed him, it was too late. With his right leg, Knight kneed the Rodian in the gut, stunning him while Knight wound a fist back and punched the bird-like alien in the face, hearing the harsh _crack _of bone as it projected with the inertia of the strike.

Knight planted a boot firmly on the Rodian's chest and brought the holographic sight attached to his Dragon to his eye and aimed the weapon directly at his his, and squeezed off a single shot, blowing apart the alien's head in a spray of blue-green blood and purple brain matter. The Rodian's body twitched for a few seconds, then went still.

Carth raised his eyebrows, showing some surprise. "Nice take down, Knight," he said with cautious praise. He was always one to notice good work. Holstering his pistol, he looked around, hoping no one had heard the ruckus. "It seems like we just can't keep a low profile. We better move on before a Sith patrol finds us."

From the shadows, the elderly man came forward, shaking like a leaf. "Those men would have killed me! You saved my life."

"I'm glad we could help," Carth told him reassuringly. "You may want to get out of here before more of them come."

The old man shook his head in despair and she could see the hopelessness in his eyes. "Davik will just send more killers. I'm doomed if I can't come up with the credits. My wife told me not to take a loan from him, but I couldn't make ends meet. I was desperate."

"This Davik sounds like a real winner," said Carth evenly. "Who is he?"

The man's eyes widened. "You don't know who Davik is?" he asked, amazed at their ignorance.

Carth shook his head. "We're community conscious mercenaries from offworld, trapped by the quarantine. We're not familiar with this planet."

"Yes, the damn quarantine. That makes sense. I can't hope to pay off Davik with the Taris economy down the drain like this," the man informed them grimly. "Davik heads the Exchange here on Taris. He runs most of the drugs, gambling, prostitution, and loan rackets around here. I made a deal with the devil!"

_Better get to playin' that fiddle, Johnny._ Knight chuckled quietly.

"The Exchange?" grunted Carth. He then nodded his head knowingly. "Yeah, I've heard of those thugs. They control the underworld on dozens of systems."

Knight quickly lowered his rifle and did a quick circuit of the alley to make certain it was clear. " Looks like we're all good," he said coming back. "So, tell us, what do you owe Davik?" she asked the man

The man sobbed, knowing that his life had only been extended by a short time. "I have to come up with one hundred credits! Where will I find that?"

Knight and Carth looked at each other, both breathed a relieved laugh. "Right here," Knight said, still smiling, pressing silver slips into the man's weathered hands. "Take care, sir." With that, he patted him on the cheek and motioned Carth to keep moving to next building, leaving the incredulous man standing alone over the two dead enforcers.

His old eyes scanned around momentarily, eying the dead bodies on the ground near him, before he scurried off to pay the debt. He did not want to be present when Davik's wrath bore down upon his two benefactors…and Davik's arm and memory were long.

* * *

**_EDIT: So, thanks to Oden1234 for being the only guy kind enough to point out more of the errors of the idiot I call my editor who has it in his mind that Knight is a chick for the gender confusion for the chapter._**


	3. Chapter II: The New Blood

_**A/N: Well, here's chapter 3. Thanks for sticking with me guys, I'm gonna take a break for a while, so don't get too down, I'll keep uploading chapter all through the summer, but I need a little relaxation time. Until then PLEASE R&R! Send in what you like and don't like. I'm gonna make the Sith a bit harder for Jack and Carth, based off some 'constructive' criticism, as well as flush out some questions that others have asked along the lines of the Dreadnaught bomb and taking out the Sith fleet, Trask over powering Jack, and Jack letting Bandon go. By the way, how're you guys liking the quotes before the chapters?**_

_**- Jake Leake**_

* * *

_"__Betrayal is the only truth that sticks."_  
- Arthur Miller

_"__Memory is the best of all gardens. Therein, winter and summer, the seeds of their past lie dormant, ready to spring into instant bloom at any moment the mind wishes to bring them to life."_  
- Hal Boyale

**"The New Blood"  
0001:08:45 (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders****  
****Upper City Backstreets, Taris**

The two Commanders walked into the shadow of the massive Administrative Building, a cavernous complex of shops and offices that shone in the rising Taris sun. Maintenance droids crawled over the transparisteel exterior, polishing the clear surfaces to a reflective sheen. This high above the surface of the planet, the air was cool and thin. Air speeders flew in long, thin lines between spires, traveling to destinations known only to their occupants.

Down below, Carth gave Knight a funny look.

"Something wrong, Onasi?" asked Knight, noticing his glance. Despite his lack of trust in the Spartan and his often-surly manner, Knight was honestly trying to be civil and learn more about his teammate. It wasn't that he particularly enjoyed his company, but he really had no choice in the matter.

_Especially if I want to get off this backwater planet, _he thought, _alive. He is some kind of hero after all, even if he's a bitter, broken down one._

Carth mused for a moment. "I dunno, sir. You amaze me. Either you're some kind of angel of mercy and death…or a nutcase with rose-colored glasses and a super-nuke. You just gave away a hundred credits to a complete stranger. Granted, it was a nice thing to do, but it's like you've been…designed to be…perfect."

"What? I can help a man pay off his debts."

"After killing off the loan-sharks that are sent to bring his head in."

"Technicality. I would have still given him the creds."

"Still, you act like you have a higher purpose."

"I have some high moral standards, my sisters certainly like my penchant for adding those in need, be it paying off loan shark or helping a little old lady across the street. Lessens the embarrassment I ail them with come Feastday, much like my brothers before me." Jack's face split with a powerful grin and went sullenly blank; he thought of his elder brothers, killed trying to live up to the impossible name their father had set for them. He remembered the cold, hard and harsh attitudes of his sisters when he was young and the many nights he spent curled up in his bed wondering what he'd done wrong.

"Maybe I should ask you if something's wrong?" asked Carth, noticing his blank look.

Knight shook his head, focusing in on his voice. "No, just a bit of a flashback, I suppose…some old wounds coming open. I'm sure it'll pass, you get those as a Raider."

"Speaking of which, does the Navy have a Spec-Ops unit or are the Raiders multipurpose? I never get a straight answer."

"We're part of the Spartan Union Special Operations Command, but we're jarheads to the bone. Navy has their Specialized Response Units, the Department of Internal Security have the MISST; the Marines have us, although we operate with naval commanders nine-times-of-ten."

"'MIST'?"

"Maritime Internal Security Teams, independently recruited and trained; though we all follow the same handbook. MIST usually handle the operations within Cancius space or on our colonies, Raiders are all over."

"But Raiders are still deployed across the Abyss."

"Occasionally, only if there's a direct threat or the MISST operators ask for our presence." Something then caught his attention. "Look, one of the escape pods." Knight motioned down the main boulevard where a several droids were working on the crashed pod. A squad of Sith troopers stood about, examining parts of the wreckage. The Spartan's eyes scanned for any survivors. Maybe they could find some clues as to Bastila's whereabouts.

"What's wrong?" Carth asked, "Let's go."

Knight shook his head, "Remember that Dark Jedi I ran into a little before we ran into each other?"

"Yeah…"

"I think he's still alive."

"He's _what_! You mean you didn't kill him?"

Knight nodded his head once, solemnly.

"Why the hell not?"

"Didn't have the time, killing a Dark Jedi takes a bit of it. That and I had _you_ breathing down my neck," Jack replied.

"Speaking of," Carth asked as they moved through the crowd, "how in Death's name did an Ensign manage to hold you back and run after that guy?"

Knight scoffed a laugh and shrugged, "I get caught off-guard occasionally."

"Jeez," Carth said, "so, if that Sith got off the ship, then he warned Malak about you?"

Knight nodded, "Most definitely."

"Oh, you gotta be shitting me!"

"Sorry, pal."

Carth massaged his temples rapidly, "So, what now? They get smarter?"

"My best guess," Knight said, "is that the thugs in the apartment were going to be the easiest squad on this planet. But that's _if_ they think I'm still alive. Malak's evil, not an idiot."

"But that would make our jobs a lot easier."

"You're telling me. Come on, Sith spooks are starting to leave. Let's go check out that pod."

A squad of Sith troopers stood about guarding the forensics team scouring the area with large, heavy looking holo-pads, examining parts of the wreckage, Carth looked it over with a pair of old binoculars, and Knight stood watch, his hand resting firmly on the pistol grip of his Dragon.

As they studied the crash site from afar, a tall, middle-aged man dressed in body armor passed by and Knight hailed him and inquired as to what had happened and the man told them that over a dozen pods had crashed within 10 kilometers, most of them landing in the Undercity. "I'm Marl, a duelist," he said in introduction.

Knight returned it. Gaining a grunt of surprise from the man.

"A duelist, you say, huh? Last I checked, duels are illegal on Taris," Knight stated, somewhat intrigued.

Marl grinned, brushing his graying blond hair back. His muscular frame showed through his blue protective gear. "Well Jack, nothing's illegal until you get caught. A Spartan would know that, eh?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

"Heheh, hey, tell you what. Why don't you and your associate come and see for yourselves. We have a tournament going on at the moment and with the quarantine, attendance is way up. I've been at this game for twenty years and this is the best crowd ever. I'm headed to the Nova Center now if you want to go," he said, pointing ahead. "It's a giant entertainment complex of shops, restaurants, clubs, and the arena. It's a great place to pass the time if you're quarantined."

"I think that's the first genuine surprise I've had since we landed on this rock, eh, Carth?"

"You said it, c'mon, we're causing a jam."

They followed Marl into a massive mall with neon lights and throngs of people shopping and eating. Carth didn't bat an eyelash, Knight Jack looked about. He wasn't used to the big cities, too many dangers. And with the Sith knowingly taking them, he couldn't keep his guard down to take a piss. In the Department, you didn't live as long as he did unless you learned fast that training and experience gets one to retiring age.

"Big place," Knight said, "best not to let your guard down here, eh, Carth?"

"No shit."

In the Arena, Marl led them to a large monitor. They paid a handful of credits and took a seat. "It's almost three in the afternoon. The first duel of the tournament will be starting soon," advised Marl.

"What are the stakes?" asked Knight with some interest.

"Ajuur the Hutt runs the duels and the winner of each match gets ten percent of the take. It can be pretty lucrative at times. I've made a good living this past two decades. All of it's safe too. Blasters are set to stun and swords are blunted. No one has died in thirty years and Deathmatches have been outlawed."

"No place for someone like you, Jack," Carth chuckled, drinking from a canteen. "Aren't all Spartan duels Deathmatches?"

"Yeah, live animals and locals, too. Tickets are expensive as hell, but the shows are pretty good; some're broadcasted on serevernet, but not all. Takes days, sometimes even weeks before the contestants manage to kill one another off, but hey, free refills are a blessing."

The monitor came on and crowds gathered around. The camera focused in on a rather forlorn looking, middle-aged male. The man looked despondent and his armor and weapons were in poor repair. Marl smirked as the announcer spoke.

_"In this corner…hoping to end a massive losing streak…the one, the only…Deadeye Duncan!"_

_"…And in this corner, the mean one himself…Gerlon Twofingers!"_

The duel was over almost before it started. As the tuxedoed judge chopped his hand down to begin the bout, Duncan's pistol fell out of his holster onto the ground and Gerlon shot him as he stooped down to retrieve his fallen blaster. As the weakened bolt burst upon his head, Duncan groaned and he fell on his face in a heap, arms and legs splayed outward.

Marl shook his head sadly. "That guy doesn't know when to quit. I almost feel sorry for him."

"Good warriors never quit, Marl," Carth said, playfully nudging Knight, "though they may need to, _badly_, they never will."

Knight had watched the bout with great intensity. The spark of an idea lit up his face. "Can anyone enter this tournament?"

"Of course. Why, are you interested, dear sir?"

"Actually, I think I could give it a good run." Knight stated, only slightly gloating. He knew he could handle any form of weapon and perhaps this would present an opportunity. The underworld had its advantages; he'd learned over the years that black-market intelligence usually was the difference between the deaths of one man compared to an entire platoon.

Carth winced. "What are you thinking? We don't have time for this."

"Frankly, we could use some money and it would be good to make some connections. You could still gather some more information while I enter this tournament. I'll meet you back at the apartment tonight," Knight said, his voice authoritative and dripping with that Spartan cunning. "Got it?"

"Okay, it's your call," he answered with some irritation. "Let's get you signed up first. Then I'll go."

_That man has a mind that could kill anything._Carth thought impatiently.

Marl took Knight and Carth to Ajuur the Hutt. The huge, hermaphroditic slug chuckled when he told him he wanted to enter the tournament. He commented that he was far too gruesome-natured to be in a stun-match, considering the bloodthirstiness of his kind, but the crowds always loved new blood. "Let's call you Mysterious Stranger." the Hutt said in his croaking language.

Knight was about to protest when Carth whispered. "That might be good. We don't want your real name getting around. The Spire's personnel records are probably in the wrong hands."

"Sounds good," Knight told the Hutt. "Commence the ass-kicking."

In the non-discriminate locker room, Knight practiced stun CQB maneuvers with his knife. He then loaded the stun rounds into his Dragon, and deactivated the shields on his armor, wearing only his leggings fully together to make things more interesting, his tone Spartan upper body looked like something most people would only see in underwear adds and high-adrenaline action flicks that . He kept on his armor's lighter under-cuirass that attached to the skin-tight vacuum sealed suit, and the upper arm guards but left his shoulders and forearms bare, displaying his scars and tattoos he'd received over the years. One in particular was that of a grainy number '5' being clutched in a steel blue fist, the sign of his platoon, just below his right collar. The shield insignia of his Company tattooed on his right arm under the letters 'SUCM', his serial bar-code identification printed to the back of his neck, and a tribal bear and wolf on his left shoulder.

Nearby, a sharp-featured woman with blue highlighted, spiked blond hair was putting her gear away. The woman had sky blue lipstick and eye shadow to boot. Everything about her had his instincts screaming on mirror's edge, he didn't like her. And that was a rarity in itself, normally the Spartan wasn't so skeptic about people he'd never met, but this woman seemed...different. Despite this, the Spartan Commander decided to strike up a conversation.

"Hey," he said.

No response, he shrugged and went back to his rifle.

After a few moments of silence, he said, "Fighting good out there? I couldn't tell, 'stunners' really aren't my typ—"

The woman did not even look over. "You think just because you're the new blood in this tournament, we're going to be friends? Well, you're wrong. I'm going to crush you and that's all there is to it. You'll be lucky to survive a bout with Duncan," she said coldly as she picked up her gear bag and walked out. Knight was over to the door before it shut, and grabbed the woman by here throat, slammed her into the wall of lockers behind her, and squeezed until hardly any air came through. By the reflections in her eyes, he saw his own indigo blue had turned that unnatural white. She was genuinely terrified, something he could tell she wasn't used to.

"Now listen to me, bitch" his voice was laced with a venom Ice had never heard before, she couldn't move, not at all, her limbs wouldn't respond to her mind's commands. "If that fat slug thinks that he can tie me down in the ring, fine, but outside, everyone is fair game."

He threw her aside, "Remember this, kid," he sheathed his knife, and held the door open, and just as he left said: "Real fighters learn to kill with any weapon."

Knight loaded the clip into his rifle and approached the bout judge. He tested the rifle and knife for safety and nodded. Nearby, Deadeye Duncan strutted up to the judge and stared at him.

"You've bitten off more than you can chew, buddy. I'm ranked Tenth in the tournament!"

"Oh? How many are entered?" asked Knight earnestly, his attention lingering to the crowd.

Duncan suddenly averted his eyes and scratched his graying sideburns. "Ummm…not including you…ten."

"Yeah."

The judge waved the competitors to their starting points and Duncan slunk away.

In the Arena, the announcer declared loudly: "In this corner…you've seen him lose bout after bout after bout, but this time he has fresh meat! Deadeye… Duncaaan!"

"…And in this corner, a newcomer! The Mysterious Straaaanger!"

With a booming voice, the judge called, "Engarde! Begin!"

Knight's Dragon was out in front of him in a blur of metal, moving so fast the world around him seemed to slow to a blurry crawl. His view of Duncan faded as the aiming reticule of the weapon became crystal clear. In slow motion, a plume of plasma exploded from the muzzle and bolted downrange. Knight was able to refocuse on Duncan in time to see him clutching at the bridge of his nose. "Uurk!" he grunted before he face planted into the ground.

"The Mysterious Stranger has won! Duncan is down again! But was it any surprise?"

Knight chuckled and walked up to the old man, "You okay there, ol'man?"

Duncan managed to say, "Gaakkk," before he was carried off.

A half hour later, Knight was replacing the phased uranium rounds and barrel of his Dragon for the depleted plutonium and adding a laser sight and 'ready-mag' holster for an ammo magazine, as medics carried off Gerlon Twofingers. The crowd went wild. He put on the heavy over-cuirass, shoulder and arm pieces of his armor.

Ajuur the Hutt paid him 500 credits and told him he had made the quarterfinals. The tournament would continue the next day. Accepting the money, Knight then showered and changed.

As he exited the locker room, Carth was sitting there, sipping a mug of Taresian Ale. The thick brown beverage was known throughout the galaxy as the finest of ales. Knight was skeptical, he preferred his liquors in a wide variety, but usually hard and strong, mostly he liked it for the kick. His wasn't as tasteful as most people.

But hell, a little bit of a zing-pop-bang never hurt anyone, and he didn't really drink. He poured himself a drink. "Not bad, Tank. I liked that thirty-meter shot between Duncan's eyes. I guess you learned something on Tharsis."

"What did I say about calling me that?" Knight said, a smile escaping his lips despite his reservations toward the Commander, and took the open seat next to him.

"Well, while you were playing, I got us invited to a Sith party tonight," he revealed quietly.

"What?"

Carth nodded while looking around for people. "Yeah, it seems many of their troops are bored, frustrated, and kept in the dark about what they're doing here. I think it's a prime opportunity to gain some valuable Intel though. We can at least find out how many troops there are and where they've searched. For a bunch of evil fanatics, they can be just like us at times," Carth said with a shrug as he put down the ale. "I'm done. This stuff is too strong and I need to keep my wits about me."

"Pussy."

* * *

That night, the pair headed over to a nearby apartment for the festivities. They had done some shopping and purchased new clothes with Jack's winnings. Carth donned a sporty orange leather jacket with padded elbows while Jack wore a more military look. The Spartan wore a skin tight, black shirt and his ammo/utility belt, knife and his MEU pistol. Carth grunted.

"I'm beginning to think those things are appendages, Knight."

"Rule number one, always bring a gun."

At the Sith quarters, a woman met them at the door while pulsing techno-synth music throbbed in the hall. "Oh, you've come!" the woman gushed at Carth, and looked directly at Knight. "I see you've brought a friend," she said, eying Knight's muscled arms and torso.

Carth shook his head. "No Sarna, this is my client. He's one of the duelists. Jack, Sarna."

Knight nodded. The Sith woman brightened more. "In that case, do come in." She tugged Carth by the sleeve, leaving Knight at the door.

Knight sighed. "Do come in," he said mockingly under his breath as he rolled his eyes. He went in, pulling the door shut. "Where the hell's some good metal when you need it?" As Knight walked into the room of flashing lights and gyrating bodies, a woman blocked his path. Her angled shoulders filled her backless dress and her deep brown eyes flickered with interest.

"Can I help you?" he asked, looking down to her, raising an eyebrow.

"That would be my desire," she replied in a silky voice as she took his hand and caressed it.

The woman's name was Yun and she revealed that she was Sith Lieutenant. Yun proved to be amazingly smooth and, in Knight's likeness, he found himself drawn to her, in a lusty, single-male way. They danced several pulsating numbers before they sat on a couch where she drank Taresian Ale and told each other stories of their travels. Wiping perspiration from her face, Yun bragged, "Darth Malak leads the fleet here. We cannot be defeated," she boasted. "I think we are close to finding the Jedi. We know she is in the Undercity. Sector Seven, I believe." She gulped another glass of ale and her face beamed bright red.

"I doubt it."

"Hmm?"

Knight sighed, "Look, from what I've learned, numerical superiority and all that bullshit is nice, but it all goes to shit faster than a Rancor's digestive tract if you don't have the right men helming the ship, you know what I mean?"

Her eyes danced around, thinking. Finally, she nodded.

"Now, Malak's smart, don't get me wrong, but if it take two weeks looking in the same spot to find one _fekking_ chick, I think he's having a great deal of sunshine blown up his ass."

"And you would things differently?"

"You bet. Here's how it looks to me: This Jedi…what's her name? Bosila? Bastia?"

"Bastila."

"Right, if Bastila is worth her salts, she'd probably guided her escape pod into the Lower City. I mean, lots of people, varying cultures, good place to blend into and that shit, right? I mean those things have a small, guided engines, correct?"

Another nod.

"So why the hell are you looking in the Under City, where she might already be dead than looking into the dozens of other of the pods that have crashed into the Lower City?"

"I honestly don't know. How do you figure that?"

"I'm a happily retired Raider, you don't earn that title unless you've got a shit load of common sense, intuition, and loads of other 'essentials'."

"Sparta? You?"

Knight flexed one of his arms, taking a drink of the rather bittersweet Taresian Ale, convinced he'd wronged her estimations. "I didn't buy these at a thrift shop, if that's what you were wondering."

"Oh-ho, don't worry, I'm sure Lord Malak has plans to over take Spartan Union soon enough."

"Yun, I think you're a little drunk. I doubt Malak has that kind of power."

"What makes you say that?"

Knight pulled out the small, baseball like Dreadnaught bomb and tossed it into the air and caught it without looking a few times. "A few, or even one, of these puppies could easily wipe out the entirety of the Sith Fleet, Sparta makes these like you guys make droids, fleets, and guns. Cheap, easy, and in large quantities."

"So…why haven't you?"

Knight laughed, "The Emperor has to give the order, then that has to go through his war council, all the way up to Executive Commissioner of the Admiralty, then up even higher to the Spartan Fleet Admiral, and back down to the lucky sunnuva bitch that gets to go into the heart of your Base-of-Operations and set the damn thing and high tail it out of there before it goes off. By that time, the war could be over, so there isn't really much of a point, correct? Besides, not even the damn Office of Republic Intelligence has the faintest clue were you guys are huddled up, so it would be pointless. Catch my drift, sister?"

She laughed as she cupped his chin with her hand. "Your skin is so smooth and creamy. A girl could lose herself in your eyes. You are absolutely gorgeous."

Knight's eyes passed over her quickly. Yun pulled him over to kiss her and she closed her eyes with some anticipation. Knight felt her face fall into his lap and he laughed. "Not so fast, kid! First and second base, _then_ third. Do you know anythi—" He pulled her head up, but she had passed out.

Knight looked around and everyone lay about snoring — everyone except Carth. He stood there with his hands on his hips. He pinched up his face and said in a mocking voice, "'A girl could lose herself in your eyes'…Do you put all your women to sleep?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Now can it, I have good Intel."

Together, they boosted a couple of Sith uniforms in the apartment and read the Sith search plan. Apparently the Sith had managed to turn the swoop gang's violent attentions against each other and a cold war between the Black Vulkars and the Hidden Beks had turned hot. However, the Sith were having problems in the Undercity, where some creatures called Rakhghouls had ambushed their patrols. They suffered numerous casualties and a Dark Jedi, Darth Bandon, had come to the planet to motivate the troops. Bandon's motivational speeches filled several body bags thus far.

"These guys still have the Rakhghoul problem?"

"Yeah, most of the Republic does, yeah, why?"

"Shit, we wiped that disease sheer out of the Cancius decades ago, kind of a shock," Knight shrugged, "ah, well, those things are fun to kill, anyway."

"Coming from a Spartan, that doesn't really surprise me."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Carth."

As they turned to leave, Knight ran a hand along Yun's cheek. "Good bye, my enemy. I have learned a lot from you."

Carth gave Knight a sly look. "So, you take one for the team, Onasi?" Knight asked, cocking his head to Sarna, asleep on a couch.

Carth maden a purposed cough with a grin. "I never kiss and tell…Commander."

"Said the Kyrat to the Bantha."

* * *

Back at the apartment, Knight eased onto the bed, Carth hopped into his. "These things are pretty comfy, better than the cots on the Spire."

"Floor's not much better. But if you wanna sleep there, be my guest."

Knight folded his hands behind his head; he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Nothing came, he looked at the tattoos on his arms and torso and thought of his first commanding officer, a fellow named Ryker, he thought, the man he was commanding under during one of his first missions with the Department. Then a thought passed through his head.

"Hey, Onasi."

Carth stirred in his sleep, "Hmm?"

"What happened with the Mandalorian Wars?"

A little taken aback by the change in mood, the man blinked. "Huh? The Mando Wars? Watcha wanna know?"

"How were you betrayed?"

Onasi's face pinched up and he looked away. He could see that it was a sore subject. "Bah, what's with all the questions, brother?" he asked gruffly. He exhaled a long breath and then looked back at him defiantly; as if he couldn't handle what he was about to say. "Wait, okay, you wanna know? All right…I've been with the Republic Fleet for sixteen years and seen more than my share of battle. I started out as a starfighter pilot…a cherry ensign like most." He splayed his hands out as he spoke, "There were minor skirmishes from time to time, but the Mandalorian invasions changed everything. We fought pitched battles with dozens of ships…entire fleets. I learned my trade from a man…a man, who betrayed me…betrayed us all. I trusted him with my life…my-"

He turned away with a frown and bit his lip hard. Something inside Knight's head told him to feel empathetic. He did, contrary to the belief that Spartans don't feel, they think, act, and fight hard. They where more human than most of the HNE vids let on, but they had trained themselves to block them off. But he couldn't help feel just slightly sorry for the man. "We all lose friends, Carth, one way or another. What happened?"

The veteran Commander took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "This wasn't until after we had defeated the Mandalorians. Sorry, I'm a little tired…cutting to the chase, the guy's name was Saul Karath."

"Yeah, I…don't know who that is."

"Really? I thought all of the Spartans were briefed when they entered the war. Saul Karath was Vice Admiral with the Third Fleet. He was my mentor…a friend…Revan seduced him to the dark side and he gave him the security codes for the Republic Fleet…they knew all of our defenses," he said slowly, his voice wavering with repressed emotion.

"One day I'll kill him," he said, clenching his fist over the handle of his vibrodagger. "I'm sorry…I don't want to talk about it. Let's just get to sleep," he added with finality.

"Carth, keeping vendettas can destroy a man, no matter how sensible reason."

"How would you know?"

"A Dark Jedi killed my little sister. You tell me which is worse: Your best friend betraying you, or having to watch as someone you've known since the damn cradle dies in front of you."

Carth didn't know what to say to that, he just rolled over and went to sleep. Knight did the same.

* * *

The next morning, Knight shook out the cobwebs from the party in his mind and rushed to the arena. A sense of urgency passed through him. He suited up quickly in the outfit he used the previous day. Today's bouts would be with swords so the Spartan drew his knife. It was his preferred melee tool. Satisfied with the weapon, Knight went to the judge. Today, the chilly woman, Ice, would be his opponent. As the protocol dictated, the judge inspected Knight's knife and Ice's swords and declared them safe. As much as a Spartan weapon could be.

Ice looked at the man, and a chill went down her spine as she recognized him. Knight recognized her as well, and the stood in an instilled silence. For several moments, the judge dismissed their reaction to each other, and told them to take their positions. Knight nodded slightly to Ice, which went unacknowledged. He flared his nostrils with annoyance at the slight. The chilly woman was clothed all in white, tight knickers with a tight white tunic. She wore a white collar and her hair was bleached white in spiky rows. Deep black mascara and black lipstick juxtaposed the color of her uniform. With a look of derision, Ice flourished a thin black rapier, coursing with energy. Knight thought she looked like a psychotic prostitute, but he wasn't in charge of people's personalities.

In the other corner, Knight stood ready, his SCMC BDU shirt and his leg armor making him look like a jungle commando. The tight shirt accentuated his every muscle on his torso and arms. Black armor plates covered vital areas on his legs, but did not encumber him. Inhaling, he closed his eyes and waited for the match to start, he slowed his heart and breathing rate down so his muscles were more relaxed.

_This kid talks and acts tough,_ Ice thought, sneering viciously, _but he's the biggest poser here. Aw well, time to drop, pal._

On the cue from the judge, Ice moved methodically toward Knight, raising her sword above her head. Knight's eyes never opened, but his arms instinctively reacted and drew his knife and caught the blade in the serrated edge. He opened his eyes and they had gone near white. He smirked. "Get ready to fight," Knight grabbed her sword arm with his free hand and pulled it in, then released the sword from his snare and, using his knife hand, he struck her in the face.

_"Oh! And the Stranger delivers a swift jab to Ice's hardened face, and she seems to be stunned!"_

Ice swung her sword and Knight deflected it and counter attacked, punching her in the gut with the stock of his knife. Ice coughed and stood. Knight shoving the blade's point near her ribs, but was parried at the last second. The crowd around them exploded with excitement. Knight smirked but Ice didn't do a thing. Jack went back to his determined scowl and hammered his knife towards Ice, who caught the blow on the flat of her sword. Ice's arm went numb and Knight pressed forward, seeing an opportunity. He delivered two powerful strokes, backing Ice up as the blonde parried with cold efficiency. Ice's expression hadn't changed one bit throughout the heated exchange of blows.

With too much force, Knight swung his knife and Ice ducked underneath the attack in a move called Passata Soto; Knight's knife had gotten stuck into the wall behind her. He pulled it out, making a high-pitch screech. The Commander rushed into the point of Ice's rapier, then staggered back, numbed through his midsection. His arms became weak and his legs wobbled. He knew he had messed up. A few seconds later he felt the blood flowing again.

"Cocky little sunnova bitch! Get your scrawny ass out of my arena!" Ice yelled triumphantly for the roaring crowd as she pointed her rapier at Knight's chest, preparing to deliver a coup de grace. Knight smirked and stood straight and spat blood onto the floor. He grabbed her sword arm with his left hand and with his right knee, he broke it at the elbow, and with the knife in his right hand, he cut a gash across her face.

"Gah!" Ice cried, as blood spurted from the wound, clutching her useless arm, switching her sword into her other hand. "What the hell! Stun weapons only!"

Knight laughed, "It is a stun weapon kid." He charged her again, swinging and catching her parry to jab her in her chest with the butt of his knife. Ice backed up and broke into a fit of coughing. "I dulled my blade down, but dull weapons are ninety-percent more dangerous than sharp weapon because one has to work harder for it to have an effect, if this was as sharp as it originally was, you'd be missing a great deal of you head."

Ice staggered back, barely able to breath. "Asshole…"

"If it's any sort of correlation, I've been having fun fighting with you," Jack smiled, "you come on strong, but you get too cocky, you think you're the best. Sad truth is: you're not. There's always someone better than you. Now it's time for you to drop, pal."

Knight took four steps to her, wrapped an arm around her neck, and slammed the stock of his knife into the base of her neck. Ice went limp and he dropped her to the floor.

An hour later, Marl was cut down, smoky fumes of burnt ozone rising from Knight's Dragon in front of the screaming crowds. Marl proved to be amazingly strong and experienced, but Knight wore him down in a long, seesaw match. In the aftermath, Ajuur the Hutt sang him praises and paid him 1000 credits. He collected his money, and left. As he exited the arena, a pair of dark eyes watched. A man with a scarred cheek and graying temples studied Knight carefully. He had observed his last two duels with great interest. Unconsciously, he checked a large blaster that was concealed beneath his voluminous cloak. Knight paused, feeling unfriendly eyes watching him, and he turned, his hand on his Dragon, and panned around the bar. He didn't see any immediate threat, but he switched off the safety and slowly left.

Outside, Carth was waiting for Knight as he emerged. "I was a bit worried about you. Marl had you on the run for a bit."

"He is an excellent strategist. But, I was able to fool him into thinking I was a lesser opponent and lured him into a trap. I used a lot of lateral movement to keep him off balance," Knight said flatly. The way he spoke he sounded like an expert tactician returning from battle. The one thing Carth had come to like about Knight was that, no matter how brilliant or victorious he was in battle or anywhere else, he really didn't give womp-rat's ass about him being popular or a champion. He was in it for the challenge. As all Spartans were.

"So, the finals are tomorrow?" asked Carth.

"Apparently, I'm to face that nutcase Rodian, Twitch. wiry little head-case, expert at hand-to-hand and marksmanship."

Carth's face showed concern. "You just be careful. Well, I hate to bust up your good mood, but I found out where the Sith are entering the Lower City. Sarna's documents pointed me to the elevator and I checked it out. I also worked on those uniforms so they should fit. Your armor already looks like there's so I grabbed a suit that was about my size."

"Right," Knight said, "but what about the swoop gangs?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, lets go.

At the apartment, Carth put on the Sith body armor. It was reasonably light and when not worn, could be folded up and put in a backpack. He strapped on the silver helmet and looked in the mirror. "Oh, how evil you look," he mused to himself. As he attached the reflective mask to his face, Knight walked in. Dressed in his full MAVERICK XXI armor suit, he looked like a real Sith officer, but Carth knew that in the Sith military, he would be fist in Chain–of–Command.

"Nice get-up, those come with cup holders and a bank?"

Knight retaliated by giving him the finger and Carth chuckled. "Alright, just gotta get this helmet on, and we'll be set."

"Take your time, Carth."

"Can do."

**The two made their way toward the elevator and noticed how the populace steered clear of them. Occasionally, other Sith would speak to them, but they found that a pompous attitude seemed to allay any kept his right side in the shadows to hide the SAWTR insignia on his shoulder plate. Carth approached the two Sith guards at the elevator. With a clipped accent, he told one of the guards, _"You there, Corporal, we're needed for the patrol. Here are my papers: you'll find them in order."_**

_"Yes, Leftenant. I understand. Please proceed. Be careful down there, sir."_

Knight followed, giving the two guards a stare that they felt through his mask. The guards shook violently as he walked past. The troopers opened the lift and sent them downward.

_"Who the hell was that?"_

_"How the hell should I know? Let's just not piss him off."_

_"Sounds good to me."_

* * *

**Fluorescent lighting flickered on with a dull hum as the whir of cables and gears reverberated in the elevator. They descended dozens of levels until the elevator came to a halt. With a mechanical hiss, the lift doors opened, followed by grimy level doors. They were engulfed in darkness, except for a large number of powered lanterns. Two squads of Sith troopers milled about there, guarding the elevator.**

_"Sir," _they said coming to attention, their CO, a gunnery sergeant of some class, approached them and saluted. _"You've just missed Darth Bandon. He is returning to the Leviathan."_

Carth grimaced under his mask. The Leviathan was Saul Karath's ship. He had dreamed of killing Karath for nearly three years now. He had prayed for a final confrontation…imagined it in his every waking thought. It was his obsession. He grit his teeth. ___"Very well, Sergeant. We shall proceed. I'm new to this dung heap and would you be so kind as to direct us to the Undercity?"_

The sergeant pointed down one of the broad avenues. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Carth could see the decay. The sunless streets were filled with debris and trash. The permacrete was cracked in many places with bizarre plants and dank fungi covering much of the surface. Sludge poured from broken pipes in many areas to be consumed by various types of slugs. Here and there, flickering lamps still provided eerie illumination down the alleys.

The Sergeant advised Carth to stick to the main avenues and to avoid the swoop gangs. Apparently Darth Bandon manipulated the gangs into open warfare against each other so as to turn their attentions away from the Sith. On a bright note, they were relieved to hear that Bastila had still not been found…by the Sith at any rate.

As Carth and Knight headed out, the sergeant hailed them. ___"Just the two of you? I wouldn't go that way with less than a squad."_

_"__We have a special weapon and we're well protected,"_ Carth answered. ___"So mind your place."_

When the two had moved out of sight of the sentries, Carth removed the Sith helmet from the uniform. The Sith had the second best armor in the galaxy, the Spartans having the first, but for a race of superior sub-human species not even originally from this galaxy, that was expected. "If we meet any Sith, we have papers," said the Commander. "Anyone else…they probably hate the Sith so we should be okay."

Knight switched the setting of his helmet back to the headset. "If they don't kill us on sight."

"Yeah, let's get to the Undercity."

"Before we head down to the Undercity, let's poke around here to find out anything about the situation. Maybe help end this madness."

Unexpectedly, Carth got a little riled and lit into his technical CO. "What? Listen, if the Sith find Bastila first, it's all over… get it? The Sith win, the Republic falls, we both die."

"But we could use the help down here in case we run into Sith trouble, these swoop gangs have killed off a lot of Sith patrols, having them on our side makes sense, hmm? I've been trained in all forms of tactics and strategies from all the militarizes in this galaxy. The Sith have standard but sloppy Brute-Force tactics, but these guys use Guerrilla Warfare and are damned good at it, so I hear, which is more effective?"

Chastised, Carth nodded understanding. But Knight was getting tired of his mood swings. He slung his Dragon's strap around his neck and shoulder and held it at the ready. Looking around, he held the muzzle of the rifle low with his trigger finger extended down the lower receiver. A status panel on his HUD screen read that it had a fully clip of tungsten sabot rounds, perfect for cutting through Sith armor, and more than efficient when dealing with unarmored combatants like the swoop gangs down here.

Into the gloom they walked past crumbling hallways and rusting pipes. Granite slugs and other vermin slithered about, devouring nutrients from the walls. As they made their way down the avenue, they heard some shouting ahead. Knight held up a fist, the 'Hold Position' signal. He motioned for Carth to keep low, and put a finger to his lips, the signal to keep quiet, and waved his hand from side to side horizontally near his throat, the 'no talking' signal.

Around a bend, they saw a short, stocky man draw two pistols and gun down a pair of aliens. Flashes of energy tore the hapless beings apart, indications of the power of the man's weapons. Knight and Carth stopped, preparing themselves for a potential fight.

The man wore a blue coat over some type of armor. A tan round hat and a night visor covered his head and eyes. Without emotion, he walked up to the fallen aliens and cut off their ears with a long razor-like knife. The dour man saw Jack as he rounded the bend, with Carth standing nearby, but paid them no mind. Instead, he placed the ears in a pouch and walked right past them without a word.

When the enigmatic bounty hunter had gone, Carth shrugged and began searching the bodies. He found a map and some business cards. "Javyar's Cantina? Hmmmm. I think it's around here according to the map. Perhaps we could get some info there."

Knight looked around. He was still bothered by the images of the people that had been killed. So coldly proficient, almost disturbingly Spartan like, but there weren't any other Spartans as short as that guy had bee_n._

___Whoever that guy was,_ Knight thought,___ I have a feeling that I'll meet him again, and that time, it'll be for blood. And I'll be waiting._


	4. Chapter III: Survivors

**_A/N: Here's a bit of a twist, little more obscene language than in the other chapters, and a few sexual references. My apologies, but I that would fit this guy's character/personality/whatever. A bit of foreshadowing in here! See if you can't find it._**

_Sic Vis pacem parabellum.  
**-**_**-Latin Proverb. "If you want peace, prepare for war."**

_"He who defends everything defends nothing."__**  
-**_** Sun Tzu.**

* * *

**"Survivors"  
****June 23rd, 1496 AGM – 25:32:45 (Spartan Time Index)  
Office of the Supreme Commander of the Spartan Military  
Spartan Military Command Headquarters, ****Sparta**

The sun was just setting over the sparkling, steel building covered horizon of the capitol planet of the Spartan Union as a knock on the door set the Spartan Fleet Admiral on a heightened edge. He sighed, and made a mental note that he was getting too old for his job. He told whoever it was to come in. The door opened and a semi-stout, heavy set man who looked to be in late sixties early seventies walked in. The Admiral sighed. "Manning, how many times have I told you not to do that?"

The Admiral's secretary nodded, clearing his throat several times, "Ahem," he said in a throaty, high pitched voice, "Sir, we have a problem."

"As usual," the Admiral sighed after a hoarse laugh. "What is it this time? Sith destroyers in the Gepsis? Civil unrest spilling over to our Embassies in Republic space?

"Not quite," the man cleared his throat again. "Sir, the Endar Spire's been destroyed."

The Admiral dawned an expression of perplexed confusion. "The what?"

"A Rubublic Navay ship carrying a platoon of the best out of the Raider divisions; it came under attack over the planet Taris, out in the Freya Nebula, near the Republic's Outer Rim."

"Christ," the Admiral said, running a hand through his thinning black hair, "survivors?"

"A few, but only three of our boys made it."

"Dear God."

"The platoon consisted of four officers," the portly man said, "One Major Hector Veron, temporary OIC, a veteran Republic officer assigned to the platoon, Second Lieutenant Kalor Ranger, Executive Lieutenant Commander John Bishop, and Lieutenant Commander Jack Knight."

The Admiral's face drained of color, and he immediately rose from his seat. "Is he…"

"He's still alive sir, only Major Veron, the NCOs and enlisted men were killed, sucked into vacuum after the first hit."

The Admiral released a shaky sigh, but the sudden trembling in his hands refused to yield. Fear was one emotion that was as common to him as a Jedi boasting absolute truth regardless of the consequences; and he was by no means welcoming of its effects. "What about the others?"

"ELC Bishop crashed on Taris in an escape pod with the ship's commander, Jedi Knight Bastila Shan. Ranger was testing a faulty light-drive on one of our fighters and wound up here, he's in the med-bay as we speak."

With a groan, the Admiral nodded. "How is he?"

The secretary adjusted the spectacles that threatened to slip of the end of his squashed nose, flipping through a data-slate he held with a series of rapid blinks, glancing through information reports that filed through in real-time. "Three broken ribs, a half-collapsed lung, four vertebras in his spine have been cracked, his knees are broken, has little hearing in his left ear, and his left kidney and bowels have ruptured, leaking toxins into his body."

"So…" the Admiral chuckled, "how is he?"

"He's conscious, heart beat is a one-ten over eighty, and is breathing," the secretary coughed. "He's fine, I can take you to see him if you'd like."

Gathering his discarded uniform jacket from the back of his chair, the Admiral motioned for his secretary to lead him on while he adjusted the garment appropriately for an officer of his station. "Then do so, Major."

**...**

Second Lieutenant Kalor-Chaal 'Kal' Ranger finally got the guts to turn his head to look at his surroundings, despite the pain that raced through his body like an angry swarm of skryll. His was in a med-bay, he could tell by the sheer white walls, the humming lights and the groaning of other patients, the scent of anti-septic and the taste of the unsettling and unnaturally clean air. He coughed, wincing almost immediately thereafter as he was bit by hundreds of tiny daggers of pain that simultaneously stabbed at him, he cursed mentally and closed his eyes.

_At least I'm alive._ He thought, a grim smirk tugging at his bandaged face. He began to piece together what fractured designs that passed for memory that he could grasp without setting the biting swarm of omnivorous locust-like insects upon him. _Must've made it back to Sparta after all, and in pretty bad shape. Can't even feel my damn pecker._

"Fuck," he managed to growl, deducing he had left his commanding officers- and his men, by that effect- behind. Dereliction of duty or treason were his likely charges, more than likely the latter of the two, after considering who was among the officer staff.

A slight hiss of an opening door caught his attention and all of the patients ceased their groans, several grunts and other frustrated noises replaced the sounds of pain, the man next to him, he saw by turning his eyes to his left, was try to salute in a upper body cast. His lower body was gone, replaced by a series of many-colored plastic tubes that ranged anywhere from a ear of corn to a pea in thickness that inserted essential nutrients and filtered waste to and from his body, respectively.

"At ease, please," a gentle but commanding voice said, "get your rest, gentlemen. Only here to check up on what you're all up to."

Kal knew that voice. He always recognized that fatherly tone, the sharp inflection on the request and the slight drawl that signified advanced age, he gulped painfully at the face that appeared in his mind that voice matched to. _The Admiral, ah crap._

**...**_  
_

The Admiral was lead in by two nurses and a doctor, or an anesthesiologist, he couldn't tell the difference, Manning and no less than six armed guards, which he found to be an insult. He was not so old that he couldn't readily defend himself from any perceived "threat". The hospital bay around him stank of kolto, sedatives, blood and rotting and burnt flesh. He looked away from the many troopers trying desperately to salute their commanding officer, many unable to.

He looked at all the men that not too long ago he had watched trained on Tharsis, many of them would be dead before long, and many of them were and didn't know it. He grimaced at the thought of it. Spartans didn't mind dying in battle, but the wounded waiting for death had the hardest time. You could train to fight and face death, you couldn't train to fight and _wait_ for death.

He approached the fifth bed to the right, fourth most in the center, were a man half his age was being processed by so many tubes the Admiral even shivered.

_Such was the life of a Raider._ He thought. The doctor increased the applied dosage of pain killers and gave the bed-ridden Spartan a shot of adrenaline so that he could sit up and talk. "Well Lieutenant, seems like those Sith gave you a hell of a dogfight. Hmm?"

The kid shook his head. "This I got from coming here, sir, best talk to the EMTs, I am damn lucky I look this good."

The Admiral chuckled. "How do you feel?"

Straight-faced, Lieutenant Ranger responded with, "Ever seen a Rancor's defecation?"

"I believe so."

"There you go."

The Admiral smiled again, kid must've been higher than a Lanturian Kyffe and despite the half dozen medical bags of high-quality synthetic morphine hovering above him, the Lieutenant seemed in great pain. That was probably caused by the large, round tubes that came out of his left and right side that was colored black from all the vile excretions that was being pumped out of his body to keep it from poisoning itself. "I assume you know why I'm here."

"About the Spire's likely destruction," the Lieutenant nodded, acknowledging whatever ability of forethought he held and also cursing under his breath. "Either the Sith got to it, or one of the Commander's visited a Cylocos demise upon that space-worthy dinosaur of engineering. Which one, I'm not sure, the hyper-drive on the Pitbull went to emergency fail-safe and I wound up here."

"As I suspected," the Admiral sighed. "Well, Kal, I'm gonna let you get your rest."

"Admiral," Ranger choked, the adrenaline dissipating, "sir."

"Yes?"

"Jack made it, Admiral Knight, sir."

The Admiral smiled, still as proud and brave as his son had inspired them to be. "I know, Kal, I know."

The Admiral caught a salute from, at first glance, a fine trooper to his left as he began to leave. The man had coarse straw colored hair, and a ragged face. He was young, for Spartan standards, his face gnawed and chewed by the chemicals from a Nemacyst assault tank's heavy main repeater cannons; the trade mark yellowing skin tone spoke volumes of his exposure to the heat the weapons produced. Upon further inspection of his medical chart, the man, a lad by the name of Corporal Deril Hooter, had been temporarily paralyzed from the waist down by a concussive charge about three days ago and was going through physical therapy for the next year.

"Well, Corporal Hooter," the Admiral grinned, "looks like you got yourself beaten up out there."

Hooter smirked, "Hell, sir, think I'm bad, you should see the tank."

"Should I? What happened?"

Hooter grinned and took out a pack of smokes—contraband for where he was, but the Admiral could smell the air filters' artificial scent so the man shouldn't be too bad.

"I was on Montressor, near Rasa VII," the tank engineer lit the cigarette up and inhaled for ten seconds, then held it in. "The other boys from the seventy-fifth and about two battalions worth of Marines, myself included, were protecting a refugee column heading from the seaports to the extraction point when this Sith assault frigate comes screaming out of the clouds," the man said, blowing the dark smoke out of his nose, and puffed a few times. "The guy in charge, General Orthur Rhaal, orders us to open fire while the Rangers got the civilians into a ravine, we got all kinds of hell blowing our way, the regulars got pretty shot up themselves, but only a few KIAs."

"It must've been a hell of a fight."

"Nothing compared to what your boys have seen," the engineer laughed hoarsely, flicking the butt away. "The fight lasted all of ten minutes that felt like ten years, my crew and I were stationed near the back of the defensive blitz covering our fellow Leathernecks from being surrounded. It was toward the end of the battle when a Sith Shock Trooper squad hit us and fired a load of concussive rockets and blew a hole into our tank half the size of a Bantha into the right side, shrapnel was flying all over, the two guys handling the ammunition got ripped apart."

"Where were you?"

"I was running the HMG on top when the blast hit," Hooter patted his hip and coughed. "Jolted me so hard I flew right out of the emplacement. Damn thing hurt, too, stunned me from the waist down, but it wasn't serious."

"Good to hear that," the Admiral nodded. "You keeping these boys and girls occupied with your stories."

Hooter nodded. "We've got a strict _quid pro quo_ going here, sir. I spin a yarn, someone else returns the favor. I'll let you go, gotto havwe some big shit rollin g your way from what Lefty there said."

"Caught that did you?"

"More than a little hard not to,"Hooter admitted, nodding his respects. "Take care of yourself, sir."

"I will certainly try, Corporal," Admiral Knight assured, gesturing for Manning to catch up. "How long has the _Spire_ been offline?"

"The _Spire's_ been terminated about four weeks, this day, sir."

"Do we have any fleets in that immediate vicinity, or around it?"

"Commodore Victiris Hroom, sir, he and his fleet are about 250,000 light years out of system, they can reach Taris within a matter of hours if they jump now."

_Ah, good old Ram, looking out for his boys._ Admiral Knight thought. "Open a line with the Commodore and have him jump as quickly as possible, if Malak was in charge of the raid on the S_pire_, he'll be ready to bomb that planet to dust to make sure there were no survivors. But why the hell would a Sith lord attack a small cruiser?"

"According to the Jedi Council on Dantooine, for of the Jedi, sir, Bastila Shan, and her ability."

"That is?"

"Apparently Battle Meditation."

"Ha!" The Admiral shouted, "If that's so, how the black hell did the Sith take out that fleet?"

"I'm not sure, sir. All I know is that Bastila is alive, along with your son, and Carth Onasi, apparently the most decorated officer in the Republic Navy. And a rough thirty-odd thousand of the best trained Sith soldiers are on the planet looking for them."

"Any match for my Jack?"

"Not even close."


	5. Chapter IV: As Hard As You Can

**_A/N: Well, here's the second-to-last Chapter I'll upload this summer. Big shocker at the end. Rest assured, I'll be updating well through the school year, but I am now a Sophomore and it'll be hard with all the homework that'll getting thrown at me. And I'm working on another story as well so I'll be tied up._**

**_See you on the frontlines, Raiders_**

**_-Jake Leake_**

_"Every winner has scars."_

- Robert N. C. Nix

_"The soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war."_

- Gen. Douglas MacAurther

* * *

**"As Hard As You Can"  
****0021:45:59 (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Javyar's Cantina, Taris Backstreets**

Once the bouncers at the Cantina entrance let them in, Carth and Knight were greeted by the smell of smoke and a din of noise. Smoky tendrils swirled under the dim lights, casting a dirty pallor on the activity below. Electronic gambling machines and card tables worked overtime and the flow of credits was fast and furious. Humans and aliens of all types won and lost fortunes here.

"Shit," Knight said, "I've seen bogs with better view distances than this place."

"Yeah, no kidding, I think I see an open spot over there, c'mon."

Carth and Knight pushed through the den into a lounge where the scent of illicit drugs was thick in the air. "Gerikein."

Carth looked at the SAWTR, "What?"

"Grain farmed on planetary growing fields in the Union, it's used in various types of ale but it has some borderline hallucinogenic properties. Organized crime syndicates concentrate it enough to sell it as a 'safe drug'. It's not entirely healthy for you, but I'd advise against using it. Don't inhale too deep, the second-hand stuff'll send you higher than a Manchurian Nymph on a storm's winds."

Near the bar, Carth saw the man who had cold-heartedly gunned down the aliens earlier. He nudged Knight, who turned to look at him just as the man's head turned to his. He raised an eyebrow at him, but went back to his drink. His expressionless face gave Knight bad feeling about him. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a Rodian shouted out, silencing the room.

With the colors of the Black Vulkars on his arm, the Rodian screamed incomprehensibly at the small man at the bar and waved his blasters furiously in front of Calo Nord's face. Two more Vulkars flanked their fellow gang member and the air crackled with the energy from their vibroblades, three more circled from behind. Tabbing off the catch on his knife's sheath, Knight focused on the head of the man in front of him.

The Rodian made a threatening remark to the man, who looked cool and placid.

"Go away," he said, tonelessly. Knight slowly drew his knife as two more joined the encircling group. The Twi'lek next to the Rodian laughed, demanding to know what would happen if they didn't.

Calmly, Nord took another sip from his drink before hurling the glass into a Vulkar's face. The glass shattered in a spray of alcohol and blood. Nord moved like a viper, spinning with his bar stool in hand. The seat of the stool cracked the second Vulkar square in the head, breaking bone and crushing gray matter. The Rodian fled. As the Vulkar with the split skull twitched, Nord flicked a cigarette on the one covered in alcohol. The screams were horrific as was the stench of burning flesh. Without a word, Nord threw a sack of credits at the bar tender and proceeded to walk out. Employees scrambled to douse the fire and remove the carcass.

The five flankers acted then. As did Knight.

Leaping up, he slammed his foot into the head of the first Vulkar, riding it to the ground where it was crushed under his weight. He planted his knife into the neck of the second attacker and tore it along until barely any flesh held to head on, blood pooled and spray all around the bar. The third, a Gran with a missing eye, charged at him with a vibrosword, Knight twirled the blade so the hilt catch rested on his thumb and fore finger and jabbed the blade into the creature's gut. The fourth and fifth charged in unison, Knight grabbed the former's stun baton arm and snapped it at the elbow, causing the Sullustan to shriek as Knight threw him to the side while the fifth tried to sucker punch the Spartan. Knight grabbed the fist and crushed it, then sent the Gran's head into an empty bottle of juma; blood exploded is a wide streak covering the killing machine. The crippled Sullustan returned, attacking Knight with a huge vibrosword. The alien flayed it about in a show of skill, the crowd awed at it. Knight gripped his sidearm, aimed a blue diode between the alien's eyes, and he squeezed the trigger. Its body fell to the floor, face a smoldering black crater.

"That's what you get for bringing a knife to a gunfight," Knight grabbed a shot of a thick, black liquor and drank it down, not allowing his facial muscles to contract at the obscene taste.

Nord had watched, at first, in a criticizing glare, but it changed to near awe at the armored figure's technique. Knight caught the petit man starring at him and his cold, white blue eyes turned into a scowl as he breath heavily, he shoulders rising and lowering rapidly, he nodded his head in respect, Nord returned it and chose this time to leave. Before he did something to piss the man off.

"So much for subtlety, eh, Carth?" Jack cautiously walked around his victims and towards the smoke, staring at the smoldering body. "C'mon. I'd like to get meal in before we-" just as Knight turned to the booth, he bumped into a Wookiee at least a foot taller than his own six-foot-four. The monstrous bag of fur looked down at the armored warrior and let out a tremulous growl.

"Pardon me," he said, gruffly, "didn't see you."

The Wookiee raised a balled fist and began to bark at him with irritated grunts, Knight quickly added an apology in Spatri. The Wookiee stopped, perplexed and intrigued. He woofed a string of illegible sounds.

"You can talk to him?" asked Carth, amazed.

"There's a lot of old Spartan hunters and guides on Kashyyyk, Spatri is a fairly common trade language."

"Yeah, well…"

Just then, a skinny Twi'lek girl ran up with an angry expression. "Hey, what do you want with Zaalbar?" The girl was dressed in worn, filthy rags and her face was sooty over her blue skin.

"This Wookiee yours, miss?" Carth asked, the girl nodded, "He should be more careful, he just about got into a fight with a Spartan Marine."

"No harm done, really," Knight snapped a pointed look at Carth. "I was finishing a little work over there when I walked into your friend here, I was about to apologize, maybe I could by you two a meal?"

_And a bath? _Carth thought, nearly said.

At the idea of food and the fact that Knight posed no threat, Zaalbar's mood relaxed and the girl introduced herself as Mission Vao. Carth ordered some food and when the meal came, the Twi'lek and Wookiee ate such prodigious amounts that Carth joked that they would run him broke, Knight elbowed the man in the ribs and reassured them that the expenses would be paid for. Gulping her meal, Mission told them that Calo Nord was a hired killer working for Davik and that he had collected hundreds of bounties. Zaalbar grunted, confirming this.

"You killed those guys?" Mission gestured towards the thugs lying dead on the floor.

"I prefer it be called 'community service'," Knight chuckled, holding a glass of Scotch.

"Right, sorry, I don't see too many Spartans down here, officers especially," Mission said, "it's kinda hard to grasp."

"How'd you two get together?" asked Carth, looking back and forth between the Twi'lek girl and the Wookiee; the partnership was truly a unique one.

Mission, blue face still covered in food, related to them what she knew of his story. "Big Z was so out of place here. He really didn't know much about LoCity. I felt bad for him…he always got picked on…. No Z, don't try to fool these people. I know you got your pride. But one time those nasty Vulkars went too far and tried to kill him. I saw Z was in deep poo-doo, but a couple of my concussion grenades stopped them. We've been buds ever since… Okay, okay, Z, you saved my butt too. The Vulkars almost shot me, but Z carried me out of there."

Carth raised an eyebrow. "Wow, that's pretty wild. Let me ask you something, kid, do you know anything about Undercity?"

Mission scowled, insulted by the reference to her age. "First off Gramps, I'm no kid…I'm fourteen. Well, I can tell you that the Sith are crawling all over Undercity. I know you're not Sith, so you don't want to be down there. Unless you're looking for the same thing…."

Knight looked at Carth, who shrugged his shoulders with a "why not?" expression on his face. Mission giggled. "I thought so. Rakhghouls would eat the two you of up—well, maybe not you," she winked at Knight, poking at the scraps on her plate. "But you're pretty nice, for a Spartan. So, I'll go talk to someone for you, but it'll take a bit. Meet me back here in three days. Say, you got any money? We gotta eat later."

Knight counted out enough money t get them through to tomorrow into a cloth pouch and dropped it into Mission's hands, as well as some rations, and a couple medpacks. It was a small token, but he figured they'd be put to good use. Mission eagerly grabbed the items from Knight's hands and scurried off with Zaalbar in tow. Carth shrugged. "I can't say that I trust her, but we don't have much choice."

The Lieutenant Commander disagreed. "I have a good feeling about her, appearances aside. All the same, let's investigate a few alternatives."

"Yeah, good idea," agreed Carth, "Well, let's press on and see what else we can come up with."

They worked their way through the lounge to a series of stages where scantily-clad Twi'lek dance girls gyrated to throbbing music. Patrons yowled and flung credits on the stage as the girls plied their trade in bawdy fashion. Knight smirked, thinking of the last time he'd been in a strip club. When he just relaxed and took a bit of a break from the life of killing and space and soldiers for a good drink, a decent-looking dancer and beautiful women with loose morals and tight clothing.

_Back when Bishop and Ranger constantly hacked at each other._

He paused at that thought. Bishop and Ranger; his XO, platoon adviser and squad mates from Tasker he brought with when he was dragged into Sigma Company, when there was a Sigma Company. Bishop had always been the goofy, laid back, atypical Raider - the joker that kept everyone at ease and always knew how to lighten the mood, but on the field he was just as disciplined as Knight. Ranger on the other hand was the piss-n'-vinegar, hard as nails, stick-up-the-ass marine; he followed every code and regulation, and gave hell to everyone but Bishop, his superior officer by a rank, Knight, and the Major. He also remembered some kid named Ashics, Jaalidin or something, newbie Third Lieutenant fresh out of basic. Father was some guy high up that wanted his kid in, and being his position as Chief Political Adviser, that happened. Although, the kid wasn't to bad. Kept his bunk clean, made a few friends and scarfed down booze like most of them did water.

_Videon._ Knight thought, _Ashics Videon. _Knight recalled that Bishop and Ranger all confronted the Major about three weeks ago to get the kid promoted four ranks to First Lieutenant, give him a squad of his own to lead, maybe. Of course, the Major was surprised, at the time, he'd been considering that same very thing. He was supposed to have his ceremony three days after Sigma had returned to Sparta. He couldn't remember if the kid was onboard the Spire with them. He didn't feel sorry about them, survivor's guilt was something that had never really gotten to him. But if he was on board, it was a shame, a damned fucking shame. Ascics was a good kid, hell, maybe General material.

Carth shook the tall soldier and motioned forward. "Come along, Knight. Stay focused."

Knight snapped back to reality and followed Carth out of the dance area, where he saw a Twi'lek woman crying. The woman filled out a skintight outfit barely adequate to cover her endowments. Concerned, Knight knelt by her. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?"

The Twi'lek looked up, incredulous. "You're offering me…something? What do you want? I don't have anything." Her suspicion was obvious.

Knight laughed, "Relax, kid, here, take this." He handed her some water and tissue. "I just saw you crying. I wanted to see if you were okay. This ain't the place for that."

The woman took the cup and drank. She dried her green eyes. "You're not from around here… Nobody offers anyone anything unless they want something in return." The Twi'lek examined Knight closely, initially suspicious, but then her face softened. "I can tell you're different. I'm Lyn, one of the dancers."

Carth nodded at the obvious, not wanting to say something insulting.

Lyn continued sadly, "I blew my one chance at escaping this cesspool. Big time producer, Bib Surool of Starlight Entertainment is on Taris auditioning talent. The quarantine trapped him here and he decided to check out LoCity for auditions. We were all set, but my partner freaked out and left."

"Partner?" asked Carth, handing Lyn another tissue.

"Yes, Bib, or Bubble B, as he likes to be called, only wants duos."

Knight contained a very amused snort. "Like the gum?"

"Exactly! I've been carrying Glena for years and she didn't prepare for this most important audition. I told her so, and she stormed out. It's so unfair! I'm doomed," Lyn sobbed again.

"Well, I've heard of more graceful breakups. The majority of them involving heavy blaster fire and many a dead body." Knight said, and he got a laugh. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. "I'm sure you can find a new partner. We have to go, but I do wish you well."

Lyn suddenly looked up and grabbed Knight's sleeve. "Off worlders don't come down here for no reason, so you must be looking for something. Tons of strangers have been down here in the past week."

The Raider traded glances with Carth. "…And what if we are?" he replied cautiously.

"I'm desperate! I can't live like this any longer," she said as mascara-streaked tears ran down her face. She looked Knight over again. "You're Spartan, aren't you? I can tell, I've seen them here before, you keep yourselves in shape. I'll make a deal with you: Be my partner and I'll get you an audience with Zax the Hutt. He knows much of what happens here in LoCity."

Carth grimaced, not liking where this was leading. Neither did Knight. "Whoa, hey, sister, I don't do dancing…well, I know some ballroom stuff, but…"

Lyn furrowed her brows. "Ballroom? YNot quite what I'd had in mind. At least you've had training. Look, I don't have much to offer, but Zax will be able to help you and it won't take long. His good will goes far in protecting you down here."

"I'll trade protection for information. He got that?" Knight asked, Lyn shrugged in response, Carth piped in at that time.

"It's worth a sot, Carth," Knight admitted.

Carth frowned, but nodded his head. He could see her logic and Zax's benevolence could be useful. An ear to the ground on their side made sense enough.

_But I still don't like it._

They went to a changing room and no one batted an eyelash at Carth's or Knight's entry. Many males were already there, either as admirers or clients. Some of the dancers winked at Carth and Knight, a few even stroking their arms as they walked past. Knight violently pushed several people out of his way, even though they where light pats.

"Is he always this edgy?" Lyn asked Carth.

"Yeah, you just have to work around it."

Knight let out a sarcastic chuckle, and popped Carth in the arm.

One girl shouted out. "Hey Lyn, give it up already! Oh, don't tell me you're going to try out with a…a human?"

"Stuff it, Kora! I'm getting off this rock!"

Lyn opened her locker and pulled out a few outfits. "Okay, try these on."

The Spartan eyed the outfits calmly, and held up a pair of chaps without a seat. "You know," he pandered out loud, "I've always wanted to see how I looked in ass-less chaps."

Carth's eye twitched, then he shivered violently. Much to the amusement of the Spartan. "Err…Could you grab him some pants or something? I'd rather not see a Spartan's...you know…"

Carth pointed downwards and between his legs. The Twi'lek's eyes shot open, and she looked at the leggings of Knight's suit.

"Those will work, I suppose…just take off your chest piece."

"Can do," Still chuckling, Jack brought up a hologram of his headset that projected into mid air, "just a sec, been a while since I did this…suit modifications…armor pieces, where the hell is it? Ah, here it is. Retract armor cuirass, initiate.

The chest piece hummed and steam jetted from sealed plates that popped open and began pulling themselves back. Starting at his shoulders, the suit broke apart and shrank itself into smaller and smaller pieces. Until only two disks the size of his head remained, one on his back and the other on his chest. He took them off and tossed them to Carth. "Hold those."

"Yeah…"

"Let's get this over with."

Lyn looked surprised. "I don't understand you Spartans. Jack, you have a beautiful, granite-carved muscular body and a heartbreaker face and yet you hide yourself in that outfit. We Twi'leks embrace our sensuality."

"How many humans have you seen that can bench a small star fighter and can mold a durasteel gurter with their biceps?"

"Point taken."

Knight walked through the room, not even caring about the startled looks on the faces of the dancers and entertainers. Hands passed over his arms, abs, pecks, back. He simply kept moving. Kept focused on what he had to do.

They approached the Twi'lek talent scout, Bib Surool, in the dance area. "Bubble B, please give me another audition," begged Lyn," I have a new partner."

Bib looked up with mild disinterest. "Hmmm…Lyn right? I think you had your chance. Your partner ran out on you."

Knight stepped forward and addressed Bib boldly, towering over the man. "You're stuck on Taris, right? What do you have to lose?"

The scout looked him up and down, desperately trying to hide his surprise. "Hmmmm…a human? How extraordinary. Quite…fit, too. Okay, you're right. I haven't seen a good duo in days. You got your shot, Lyn. Your _one_ shot. Don't blow it."

Lyn leapt with joy as Bib pointed to one of the stages. "Clear off, ladies!" he shouted and the stage emptied.

Lyn instructed the DJ as to what music to play. She then spoke to Knight. "Just follow my lead. I'm not going to do anything fancy. Bubble likes it when we dance close, so just relax. Stay behind me unless I turn toward you."

Knight nodded wordlessly as they took the stage. Male and female patrons, including off-duty Sith and even the nobles, gathered in droves. Knight looked down at the slobbering masses. He rolled his head, pulled his shoulders back, and popped his back.

The music began and Lyn twirled to the rhythm. Knight immediately fell in step. She tapped into that hidden spot in his mind he'd learned to master in the Marines and energy seemed to flow through him. For a moment, his consciousness expanded beyond his body, as it did when he was in combat, and he seemed aware of the minds of everyone in the room. He sensed what Lyn was going to do before she did it and the dance routine was flawless despite some serious acrobatics.

Bib went bananas. He stood and yelled, "You two are in! Starlight needs talent like you!"

Lyn squealed with joy and hugged the tall Lieutenant Commander. Knight returned it reluctantly, looking down at Carth, who was shaking his head. Knight plainly gave the man the finger.

Lyn whispered to him, "Thank you. I made the right choice. Boy, you can dance."

"Right, don't mention it, and I was never here. Got it?"

Lyn nodded, and told him where to find Zax. Despite a generous offer, Knight politely declined Bib's contract, but made him promise to take on Lyn. She would join the Starlight tour as soon as anyone could leave the planet. Until then, she would stay at a posh hotel in UpCity on Starlight's dime.

As promised, Lyn took her new friends to Zax the Hutt. After the SAWTR dawned his cuirass

The bloated Hutt chuckled as Lyn introduced the two. Zax chortled out a string of words in Huttese and Lyn replied that she would not forget him now that she had made the big time.

Knight nodded to the Hutt, who croaked out a greeting.

"I understand the Sith are giving you some difficulty here by preventing fair trade," she said, "Perhaps you might assist us, and by doing so, help your situation."

Zax pondered the SAWTR's words for a minute and confirmed that he was no friend of the Sith, who had strangled his business managing certain things for Davik Kang. Zax said, "I never give anything away for free, but since you helped Lyn, I could give you some information," he said, looking longingly at Lyn, one of his best dancers. "Additionally, you will have what protection I can give in LoCity and you will not be harassed in the Cantina."

"The information will do, but it's nice to have some back up," Knight stated, scratching the stubble on his face. "It works, I suppose."

Carth was not fond of Hutts, but he held his feelings close. He bowed curtly. "You have our thanks."

Zax coughed and popped a toad into his mouth, slurping up its juices. "It seems that both Davik and the Sith have hundreds of troops in the Undercity and that several Republic escape pods have been found. Ho ho ho…However both continued to search for Republic survivors in competition against each other. Sith Patrols have made some progress against the Rakhghouls, but casualties continued to pour in. Apparently, Sector 7 has been cleared and only an empty pod was found, and an entire platoon of Sith Shock Troopers had been wiped out by Rakhghouls."

"Damn it, back to square one," grunted Carth in frustration. "At least we know where _not_ to look, perhaps we can take advantage of the competition between Davik and the Sith. At any rate, we'd better get back to the apartment. It's getting late."

The Hutt nodded and then croaked again, telling them about an opportunity.

"Bounties? Yes I know what bounties are," Knight didn't add the explitive that had nearly followed the previous statement. "Prices put on the heads of other people when they've pissed off someone they shouldn't have."

Zax nodded his slug like head. "I also run a bounty collection business. Bounty hunters could capture people for cash. There are several fugitives wanted by the State and a few are personal vendettas from Davik." A servant handed Carth some wanted flyers with pictures and descriptions. Zax added that they could either report to him if they saw anyone or capture the fugitive themselves for a bonus. "Dead fugitives still pay out three quarters."

Carth looked over the pictures and warrants and saw a pretty woman. "Who's this girl, Dia?" he asked, about one of the bounties.

Zax snickered. "Dia was a waitress in the lounge, but then she sliced Davik's messenger with a vibrodagger." The Hutt seemed immensely amused by the story.

"Sounds like there's something more to this?" Knight added, looking over the profile.

Zax shrugged his tiny arms. "The messenger, Holdan," he said, saying the name derisively, "had tried to assault Dia. He's a miserable weakling and doesn't deserve satisfaction, but that is none of my business. Davik ordered the hit. You see, whatever the reason, you don't mess with Davik or his empire."

"We'll see about that," Knight muttered under his breath.

Carth continued to look through the contracts and saw multiple hits made by Davik. "This Davik has a lot of grudges."

The Hutt nodded. "Davik also has a contract out on a Twi'lek named Matrik, who had turned State's Evidence and ratted on the Exchange. Apparently, he did not have the stomach for Davik's slaving and extortion operations. The subsequent government roundup crippled the Exchange for months, but the Sith's arrival ended the Witness Protection Program on Taris and the hunt had turned hot again," he said. He held up a sack of credits and said, "Davik would pay well for Matrik's head. But if you look, he also has a hit on a debtor named Largo, who seems harmless enough. That should be an easy one for you."

_Not too fond of bad losers. _Carth let that thought simmer, looking at the concentrated Spartan. He smirked; he knew that Spartans weren't fond of mass criminals. Continuing on with the contracts, Knight read over the description of a State fugitive named Selven. She was a former bounty hunter herself, but became psychotic and had murdered many innocent bystanders.

Knight made a mental note to start there, and looked back up at Zax. "If we see them, we'll let you know," he said with a bit of a fib.

_Some of these people are innocent, as far as that went in this berg. I won't let them be harmed if I can help it, _thought Knight. _Although, this bounty hunter is in my cross-hairs; she might have information. _He could feel his dark eyes drain color.

With a nod to Zax, they left and returned to the Uppercity.

**

* * *

The following day, Knight headed to the finals of the dueling tournament. Huge crowds had gathered and the chanting was deafening. "Twitch!" many yelled, rooting for the insane Rodian. Others screamed, "Stranger!" The man with the scar on his cheek sat silently, awaiting the bout. He'd decided to reduce the amount of weight on his armor by taking a few pieces off, so all he was left with was the torso vest.**

Knight cracked his knuckles and checked the safety on his Dragon. It was on, he clicked it off.

_Good, let's get this started. Now, where's the bout judge?_

He practiced drawing his knife several times, slightly crouched, knees bent, and hands in a fighting position, he looked like he was going leap onto someone. He and Carth had worked the trigger down to a tenth-pound pull: Knight would barely have to think and the deadly rifle would fire. He switched out the plasma condenser coil to make a 1:6 twist, condensing the bolt, making it more powerful, which wasn't exactly necessary. Their armorer skills would serve them well.

Standing on the starting pad, Knight focused on his opponent. The Rodian screamed at the roaring crowds, hurling threats to everyone's delight. To Knight's surprise, Marl walked over amid the din. "Hey, good luck, young man. No hard feelings for you beating me. You're very good," he encouraged, "Perhaps this is a sign for me to retire."

He thanked him, and his eyes drained into that icy white blue instantaneously, a prickly sensation came over him. Everything but Twitch faded away and his world became silent. Twitch seemed to dance in slow motion and he sensed his thoughts. They weren't as insane as he let on.0

"In this corner, he's fast, he's deadly, he's borderline psychotic…Your champion…Twiiiitch."

"…And in this corner…he's a meteor on the rise, but will the Rodian shoot him down? The Mysterious Straaaanger!"

The judge called engarde and the insane Rodian assumed a fighting stance. Knight hardly moved, he waited, patiently for the first attack. This one would be good, he'd hoped.

At the signal, Knight's peripheral vision saw Twitch's hands move for his holster. Before he could draw, he had a hand on his Dragon, drew and his eye found the sight. A blast from the weapon struck Twitch in the head, snapping it back, but he remained standing. With a shake of his bulbous head, he returned a shot, hitting the Spartan in the hip. Knight fell to one knee and bared his teeth through the numbness.

Finding the sight, Twitch pressed the trigger again, but nothing happened. Knight fired three more bursts at him but the Rodian just didn't go down. Hoping to finish the bout, the mad Rodian fired another, this time successful, shot, but Knight rolled sideways causing the shot to miss. The bolt flew by with a shriek. Sitting up on one knee, he aimed down the sight again and fired until the gun clicked.

On instinct, Knight pressed the magazine catch and the clip fell away from the rifle. Before it hit the ground, he had inserted a new clip and returned to the firing position in a blur of metal and flesh.

A blast hit Twitch in the head again, but still he remained standing, albeit stunned. The Spartan grunted with frustration at the Rodian's stamina. Seeking to end the bout decisively, Knight winced as he got up, drawing his knife and sprinted forward, raising his arms for a strike. As he delivered the cut, Twitch had recovered enough to draw a short sword and parried his attack down. Twitch riposted with a thrust into exposed flesh on Kight's right shoulder. The illegally sharpened blade glancede off the metal plate and dug into his exposed shoulder, blood flowed down his armor. The crowd roared. Without hesitation, Knight seized Twitch's sword arm and slammed his free arm into his elbow, breaking it, and brought his left leg around trip the Rodian's legs out from under him. As he crashed down on his face, Knight wrapped the unbroken arm behind Twitch's back and pressed the tip of his knife into it.

The Rodian screamed, Knight hammered him once in the face with an armored fist. For a second, the crowd thought the duelist was dead, until he just barely gargled, "I give! I yield!"

The crowd went berserk and the judge raised Knight's hand in triumph. He winced in pain as his awareness came flooding back. A man handed him a huge trophy and Carth came running out. "You okay there, Knight? You look pale." Then he noticed the blood.

He grasped his lapel and started to speak, but his eyes rolled back and he collapsed into Carth's and the Judge's arms.


	6. Chapter V: Semper Fi

**_AND I'M BACK! Sorry for the long ass delay. High School's getting hard and I don't have as much free time as I used to. But ANNOUNCMENT TIME! I'm now working on it with my dear friend schwartze…I am not lying…anyway, she's gonna be doing Bastila's stay with the Vulkars, and she's gonna give out a sketch of what Jack looks like in his MAVERICK suit, and a new suit that I will not reveal. This is not the spoiler you're looking for, move along, move along._**

**_- Leake_**

_"Rule #45: Leave no man behind, dead or alive."_  
**- Spartan Marine Combat Law**

* * *

**"Semper Fi"  
2210 Z (Galactic Universal Time)  
Bastila Shan  
Jedi Padawan****  
****Endar Spire Captain's Quarters, 40,000 Kilometers out of Taris' orbit **

Bastila Shan's head shot up as she heard the sirens blare through her room. Standing quickly, she grasped her lightsaber firmly and jogged out to the bridge, seeing Carth Onasi. Hurrying to his side, Bastila gave him a look before staring out at an intense, burning battle ground littered amongst the stars. He turned to her and asks if she could use her Battle Meditation to influence the battle.

"Commander Onasi," she began her cultured accent sharp in a calm way. "Even with my help, this battle does not look favorable."

Carth gave Bastila a knowing look before nodding once and sighing. "There may be hope for us yet, Bastila," he told her, "but hurry!"

Bastilanodded before jogging off to a small glass room, the tails of her Jedi robes trailing in her wake. She sat down and focused very hard on the open space around her, nearly joking with emotion as she felt the deaths of hundreds of men. Shoving that aside quickly, she took a deep breath before slowly, steadily channeling the Force through her body and out into the Republic soldiers.

In the middle of her trance, she was roughly brought out of her meditation by a soldier who gave her specific orders from Carth to evacuate the ship. It was a deep, baritone voice that resonated through her, soft and gentle but no less commanding.

_Why? _Bastila wondered, just as she wondered about the man she asked to be a part of her team.

The memories of Darth Revan were still strong in her mind; the way his face looked so serene and kind without his mask, handsome yet strange. She furrowed her brows as she thought back on her masters when she returned with the body of a barely alive Sith Lord. No, she corrected herself, a Spartan Jedi. A once and still great leader and soldier who had inspired hope amongst everything he grasped, and the thoughts gave her chills. Despite what she thought of him and his involvement in the Mandalorian War, she knew if it had not been for him, the Mandalorians would have dominated the entire Republic within a matter of months.

Even though she trusted her Order implicitly, she feared the unknown – what they did to Darth Revan. Ever since that moment, she felt a second joining in her mind – a presence not quite her own. The sensation was pulsing, alive and strong with enough raw power to destroy a galaxy; this power was oddly innocent in her mind. However, she knew it was simply gilded gold – a fraudulent innocence created to cover a darker interior. Or a dark good that lurked in its shadows, either way, it was _there_; she _felt_ it.

When she stepped foot on _The Endar Spire_, she was shocked that the pulsing in her mind was suddenly stronger; the man was nearby. It only took her a few days to discover the source of the presence in her mind, and though she never got a good look at his face, she knew who the man was. Her request for the Raider operative to join her team was granted, and finally she could perhaps break this link, this hindrance. Of course, his whole unit was transferred aboard as well, no matter; a few of the Union's best would do nothing but ad to her success.

"Bastila Shan," an even toned voice said, she turned to see a Spartan holding a Dragon was following her, his helmet covering his face. "Executive Lieutenant Commander John Bishop, I've been ordered to escort you down to the surface, ma'am."

"Very well, Lieutenant," she said, "you know how to operate the Republic pods?"

Bishop tapped a set of keys, and the pod's doors hissed open to a meter-wide hole that led into the interior.

"I think I can make it work."

"Right," she said, hopping in, Bishop hit the launch timer, and joined her. "How long?"

"'Bout thirty seconds, brace yourself these things tend to kick off pretty hard."

The pod ejected, and Bastila took time to calculate the trajectory as Bishop made sure there was a survival pack in the small cabinet in the floor.

Bastilathoughts returned to her immediately when a gust rocked her pod violently, followed by a loud, angry beeping noise filled her ears from inside her escape pod. "For the love of the Force!" Bastila exclaimed loudly, trying very hard to fix the damned machine.

Taking a glance out the view port, her eyes widened. "What?" Bishop asked, looking out as well. "What's wrong—?"

Another pod had been shot open, leaking oxygen into the vacuum, suddenly, a pair of bodies where sucked through the hole, torn apart by the uneven gash. And it spun wildly, heading straight for them. After scrambling and pushing a few buttons, Bastila took the controls in her hands and used all of her strength to keep the pod from colliding with the rogue pod. She could see rings of fire form around the pod as she continued to decelerate and spiral towards the ground. The Jedi winced and pulled up with one last burst of strength in a desperate effort to save Bishop's life and her own, and surprisingly, she managed – to live at least.

The metal screeched loudly as the pod bored through layers of durasteel, concrete and iron bars that held up the Upper City of Taris. Bastila curled her arms around her head and held onto herself for dear life as her small means of escape made its final descent into the black reaches of an intricate set of tunnels, Bishop inches away guiding it roughly. The impact was hard and rough, jarring Bastilaand shoving her roughly against a wall. She tried to protect herself with the Force, but only too late as her head cracked against the glass window, sending her limp body to the ground in a heap. Small fires burned around her as her body lay curled up on the ground outside of the pod, her lightsaber inches away from her fingertips.

Bishop was ejected out of the pod, his suit punching a hole through the super-heated steel. His quarter-kiloton suit more than a match for the pods flimsy armor plating. His HUD flashed, his shields were gone, an alarmed in his helmet screaming aloud. He staggered to the pod, and felt Bastila for a pulse, he found it, but it was very, very weak. He broke open the floor hatch and grabbed the survival bag, as a Rodianpopped his head over the side, a blaster in his hands; he fired.

The bolt bounced of the suit's plating, hitting the pistol it came from. Reflexively, Bishop turned and pumped three tungsten-sabot rounds into the Rodian'sblue-yellow head. The rounds tore it clean off; and it fell to the ground. He cursed, and slowly looked over the side; a herd of Gran, Humans, Rodians and a few Sullustans were sprinting to the area. He looked down at Bastila, there was no way he could carry her to a safe enough distance without being sighted. He kicked up her saber, and removing any kind of Jedi-related trinket he could find, and looped the kit over his shoulder. Hopping over the opposite side, he took off, switching on the sound-suppressor of his Dragon as he sprinted into the dark…

* * *

When Bastila woke up, she grabbed her head and hissed a breath through her teeth. Her head hurt horribly, and she groaned a little, taking a deep breath. What had just happened? She looked around her, where was Bishop? Obviously not here, she struck herself mentally, slightly embarrassed. It would only figure a Spartan wouldn't be caught and she would. A door scratched open, and a figure walked in.

"Welcome to the land of the living, my friend," a male voice spoke clearly.

Bastila started angrily and reflexively grabbed for her lightsaber, fear filling her heart as she realized that her blade was not with her. She scrambled a little across a floor, trying to escape before she was caught by chains. Looking down, she clenched her fists as she saw two iron loops clamped around her wrists. Her heart was pounding, and she looked up at the man, her blue-grey eyes boring into him like ice.

She tried to use the Force and was severely disappointed when she found out that she was completely cut off from the freely flowing wondrous energy. Instead, she felt somewhat empty inside, blind, without the constant stream of the Force through her body. A collar around her neck was keeping her from connecting with the Force, and she wanted to hurt the man out of anger. She mentally wished Bishop was here, the Spartan had watched her back on the Spire, where was he now?

The man had darker tinted skin and short, black hair, and she despised the man already, though she reminded herself that her emotions were childish.

"Release me," she spat, her anger seeping into her voice, sharpening her accent exponentially.

The man laughed and shook his head. "You're funny. You think you can order me around? I am not the one in chains, so you should rethink how you are speaking to me."

"You talk as if a prisoner should speak to her captor with civility. If you are looking for a captive to bow to your every whim, you have not found her," she growled a little, sitting back against the pillows and taking a good look around the room.

The black man laughed and shook his head. "No, no… A feisty woman makes for a good prize, and the fact that you are a Republic officer makes you worth so much more. I shall get a fair credit for you." The man had to admit that his captive was beautiful, but she wasn't his type; her eyes freaked him out a little, and the power she held made him wary.

"A prize? You will get nothing from me!" she replied. How dare he?

"A prize yes, for the winner of the swoop race I am so graciously hosting. However, you might as well be coming right back into my hands, madam," he replied firmly. Losing was not an option.

The fact that she was being used as an incentive in a sport made her angry, but not as much as the fact that this man had no virtue or respect for human individuality and life. Slavery was a horrible ideology of which Bastila was firmly opposed to, and now she found herself a slave to men. "I will not be a slave," she spat. "Mark my words, I will find a way out if you do not find decency within yourself to let me go…" Bastila warned.

"Why would I let you go?" he asked, brows furrowed. What a stupid woman, filled with notions of honesty and decency. Hah! Let the princess get a little taste of reality. "I am Brejik, leader of the Black Vulkars, and you are most certainly not escaping from our clutches."

Bastila rolled her eyes, highly annoyed now. "You are the leader of a gang? A group of common thugs?" she questioned, now very upset with her situation. Since when had she been weak enough to fall captive to a gang?

Brejik turned and clenched a fist angrily. "We are a society and a way of life, princess," he growled. "And soon enough, you will be forced to conform. When we win that race, you will be mine again. However," he paused, "until the race, you will remain in a cell that we have prepared for you. And I assure you, until we win you back, you are safe from the evils that women like yourself fear." A wicked grin curled his lips a little.

A chill crawled up Bastila's spine as Brejik gave her a disturbing grin, and she set her jaw firmly, squaring her shoulders and refusing to let that man, or any man for that matter, take advantage of her. She would rip their skin off before she would let them within inches of her personal space. "I am not 'princess,' Brejik," she told him angrily, "and I will not fall to such contemptible behavior."

"Ahah! So she is a snotty princess too?" Brejik laughed. "You have grown far too accustomed to the life of luxury in your precious High Republic life."

"Luxurious? Hardly, and I apologize that I speak properly," she said, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back against a wall.

"You are a princess," he said, "but that is a fixable quality."

Bastila rolled her eyes and refused to talk to him from that point forward. When she was transported to her cell, she paced around for a few moments before attempting to take off the collar with little luck. She was completely trapped in the concrete walls. The good news was that they hadn't discovered that she was a Jedi, so she breathed a little.

Taking a deep breath, she settled into a corner and fell asleep, dreaming of horrible things and Darth Revan's mask rising from a pool of bodies, a grim phoenix's rising. Almost immediately, it shattered apart, the blade of a mighty sword the cause, humming from the might of the impact...

* * *

For the second time in less than a week, Knight thrashed about, unconscious. A dream floated about in his mind. Dark auroras flashed in a brilliance of Technicolor reds, blues, yellows and oranges. It made his head hurt, for a while. Behind his eyes he saw something, no, someone moving around. A woman with shiny auburn hair and hard grey eyes, asleep in a bare cell, somewhere he didn't recognize.

_Bastila…_He thought, and the head looked up reluctantly, and drooped back down.

He awoke with a start, feeling fuzzy and confused. Looking around, he saw Carth with Marl standing behind him. A plastic tube ran over his nostrils and he was in a hospital gown. A smell of disinfectant hung heavily in the air. Knight tried to move, but his shoulder ached.

A kindly man in a doctor's scrubs checked his steadying vitals as a droid hovered nearby.

"Oh, good morning, sir. I'm Doctor Forn. You've lost quite a deal of blood, but you'll be up and around in an hour. Those Kolto infusions do wonders, and with the bacta patch you won't even have a scar," the doctor said warmly. His white beard and snowy hair contrasted his dark skin while his broad smile and portly frame added to his grandfatherly look.

"What he means is, you're okay," interjected Carth.

"You're quite a champ," added Marl.

With a grunt, Doctor Forn shooed the men out so his paitent could change. He gave him a medpac to apply over the mostly healed wound. "Man of your size and skill like you shouldn't be hurt out fighting…not very logical," he admonished him. Knightnodded demurely as he placed the pac on his shoulder, it was cold and instinctively he tensed up before it began to warm. his body settling down after the hard chill, Knight let out a releived sigh. "Doctor, could I purchase more of those pacs? I'm heading into the Undercity."

Doctor Forn turned sharply and his face registered horror. "The Undercity? What in the devil could you need down there?"

"A friend of mine is missing…I'm going there find her. It's dangerous down there, alone."

"Damn right it is, even for a Spartan. You'll wind up dead or worse…infected by the Rakhghoul Virus."

"The Rakhghouls," Knight repeated to himself in a half-sniker, half-sneer. "I know all about that plague, Doctor."

"Well, then you'll know the virus attacks the genetic structure itself and mutates a person into a mindless killer that could spread the disease with a bite," he added with deep sorrow. As he spoke, he could feel a strange empathy and all of the doctor's emotions flooded his mind.

"I've had my vaccinations, Doctor. White-coat scientists in the Union wiped the disease clear out of the Cancius centuries ago. But don't you guys have a vaccine for it?" He asked, trying to tune out the wave of feelings. What the hell was going on with him?

"Hrmph…the Sith have a serum, but damn them they keep it to themselves, letting the people of Taris suffer," he said, his distaste for the Sith obvious. Then, he crept closer to him and whispered, "I shouldn't speak so loud…the Sith have ears. With just a few doses I could replicate the serum. Is it too much to ask?"

Knight thought for a moment, trying to think of an answer. The vaccine in his bloodstream was to strong for these people, it'd do more harm than good, much in thanks to the vast genetic difference between Spartans and standard humans. He nodded solemnly. "I'll keep my eyes open for the serum. If I come across any, I'll see it's brought to you."

"I can't ask that of you. It's too dangerous. Your friend is already dead," he urged, trying to change his mind.

"No," Knight said, almost a whisper. "She's alive. I feel it…somehow." He locked on the last piece of the segmented armor. "I need to go doctor. But I will return, with the serum."

With that, the doctor gave Knight a pouch of medpacs and sadly bid him a safe journey.

* * *

Marl, who had been so helpful to Knight during the dueling ring, was now quite a friend. He escorted the Spartan and Carth back to the apartment. There, they chatted for a bit and Carth brought up the bounties.

Carth spoke, "We should try to find and help them. If someone gets to them first, they'll be killed or worse."

The Lieutenant Commander nodded his head. "I agree in this case. It could turn the tide if we have some grateful people on our side, so when we need a favor, we can get it. No questions asked."

"We'll at least try to make the effort," Carth said in conclusion. He put the bounty cards on the table and flipped through a few, while handing others to Marl.

Marl looked at the pictures. Surprisingly, he nodded and said, "I know where Largo can be found."

Together, they tracked the debtor down and Knight gave him 150 credits to pay his debt. The man was shocked and blubbered his thanks. From him, they learned that Davik lived in a posh estate in Uppercity, secured by assault droids and servants. Despite Davik's security and awesome power, the Black Vulkars were trying to wrest it from him in a violent war beneath the eyes of the Tarisian authority.

Next, through some of Marl's contacts, they were able to locate Dia. Suspicious at first; Knight's gruff persuasion won her over. Dia confirmed Zax's story of the attempted assault and complained about Davik's raw justice in how she was slated to die. Kinght gave Dia some credits to help her hide and told her that Holdan would withdraw the bounty. Or he'd regret it.

* * *

With a little apprehension, Knight and Carth returned to Javyar's Cantina to await Mission and Zaalbar. As promised by Zax, no one bothered them and they were treated well in the Cantina. In the dance room, they found Davik's messenger, Holdan. He was the womanizing slime Dia described.

"Hey sweetcakes, you're mighty fine," said Holdan, leering at a dancer, who pushed him off.

"Put your eyes back in your head, Holdan," Carth warned, looking down at the swine.

Holdan worked up his bravado and stared up at the Commander, who was taller. "Why, what are you going to do about it? Do you know who I am? I'm just trying to talk to the piece here."

Knight cocked his head at Carth for him to back down, forcing himself to stay cool. "I want you to withdraw the bounty on Dia."

Holdan burst into a mocking laugh, making the Spartan roll his jaw in a threat only Marl and Carth caught. "You can't be serious? She tried to kill me! Hah, maybe you'd like to take her place?"

Marl cut in at that time. "Sir…I understand that you tried to assault Dia and she cut you. We were told by several sources that you squealed like a little girl."

"Who said that?" Holdan screamed, his face twisting in horror. Carth forced the smile creeping at his face. Dia's words were accurate now.

Carth answered with some delight, "Well, we took on the bounty and when we dug around, the true story began to come out."

Knight nodded. "We're not so much concerned with her as with your reputation. You're a big man Holdan. People learn you just about wet yourself when cut by a waitress, how long you think you're going to last?"

Holdan broke out in a sweat. He swallowed hard. "B-But…I…I can't just withdraw the bounty. I'd be a laughing stock."

Carth put his hand on Holdan's shoulder in a fatherly way – reassuring, yet firm. "I think you're already there, but here are one hundred credits. This will ease the pain. Take it and withdraw the bounty…for you reputation's sake. It'll all go away quietly."

Holdan nervously nodded, consumed by the thought of how this might have hurt his standing in the Exchange. Holdan knew these two had saved his bacon from the fire.

As the slimy worm scurried off, Knight called a much-relieved Dia to tell her the heat would be off soon.

When that was done, Mission announced her presence. Carth jumped, having never noticed her. She could be just about invisible when she wanted. Jack turned to her.

"You guys put that slimo in his place. Nice job," Mission giggled as she wiped dirt from her cheek.

Knight smiled at her and pulled out an expensive nylon jacket she had bought for Mission. The Twi'lek girl gasped in surprise. "OHhhh, for me?" Mission jumped for joy, trying it on. "You really are off worlders. No one is that nice down here."

"Just a little payment, figure you could use it, get rid of that rag you're wearing."

With a huge grin, Mission led them out of the Cantina and through a maze of corridors. Carth carefully mapped their route on his data pad so that they could find their way out if need be. "I'm taking you to meet Gadon Thek, leader of the Hidden Beks," Mission told them.

"Aren't they one of the swoop gangs?" asked Carth suspiciously.

Mission nodded. "Yes, but you're going to need them to find what you want."

Part of the way, they met Zaalbar, who was guarding the route. The massive Wookiee woofled a greeting. Jack answered him in a warbling grunt of Spatri.

Down a dark, menacing alley filled with steam, Mission skipped gaily up to a wall. _There's a door here,_Knight thought, seeing the out-lining of the steel frame. She whistled and knocked. A tiny portion of the duracrete wall slid away showing a pair of eyes. The eyes looked at the thin girl.

"Mission Vao…wut you wan?"

"I'm here to see Gadon. I have an appointment and I have some friends."

The panel slid closed and then a door opened. Two Twi'leks and a Bith ushered them in quickly before closing the door.

"I never would have seen that door," mentioned Carth.

"Well, deys don't call us da Hidden Beks fer nuttin," said the Bith as he led them down the hall.

At the meeting room of the leader, they were met by a Twi'lek woman. Her outfit was pristine and the spongy lekku at the top of her head were attractively arranged. A blaster pistol was neatly tucked in a holster at her hip and two daggers were strapped to her belt. This woman was all about business. She looked at Mission with disdain. Knight could see that there was history here.

"I see you still don't know how to take a bath, child," the woman said.

Mission rolled her eyes. "I'm not a child, Zaerdra. Just let us see Gadon."

Zaerdra studied Knight and Carth while still bantering with Mission. "Where'd you get the fancy jacket?"

Mission beamed with pride. "My friends bought it for me. They're from off world."

"Which brings me to my next question…why should I let you see Gadon?" Zaerdra asked imperiously.

From through the open door, a booming voice sounded out. "Because I desire it, Zaerdra. Let them through."

She grabbed Knight by his arm, "Watch your moves, kid. One wrong move and you'll be dead quicker than you can say 'Vulkar spy.'"

"That's a mighty claim, I'd hate to see it powered down," Knight ripped his arm from her grip, and shrugged it off. With an audible grunt, the Twi'lek woman ushered them into a lounge where a powerfully built man sat. His skin was as dark as night and his head was clean shaven. However, Knight immediately noted his silver eyes. He peered in knight's direction, but did not seem to really see them.

"Mission, I see you have brought some friends. Please excuse Zaerdra; she can be overprotective at times. Welcome to the lair of the Hidden Beks. I am Gadon Thek."

Zaerdra groused, "Gadon, you are too trusting. Please let me do my job. What would happen if Brejik kills you?"

"Once we stop trusting anyone," replied Gadon, "we are no worse than animals."

Knight shot Carth a quick look. He knew what he meant, but merely snorted.

"So, what brings you here?" asked Gadon in his sonorous voice. "Don't see too many of you big militant types 'round here."

"We're looking for someone…someone lost in the Undercity," said Carth. He was reluctant to show his hand, but again, he had no choice.

Gadon nodded slowly. He sensed what they wanted. He looked carefully at Knight, who rolled his jaw anxiously, casing the Twi'lek to stiffen slightly. "Well…you must be searching for the survivors of the crashed escape pods. Hmmmm…you're not Sith; you're not Vulkars…That leaves the Republic or mercs, and I'm guessing _you_ are the Spartan that Mission's been telling me about."

Carth raised an eyebrow, but did not speak. Knight didn't seem all too concerned that Mission had told Gadon about his being a Spartan, hopefully that was all she told him.

Gadon continued, "Unfortunately, you are too late. Our scouts informed me that those damn Vulkars got to the pods soon after they crashed. Davik's men and the Sith are still down there. I know for a fact that the Vulkars captured a female Republic soldier a few days ago. After she had taken off the head of one of their best scouts with some kind of tungsten rounds, from what the metals in his head looked like."

Carth groaned, but at least there was hope that she was alive. Knight perked in, if Bastila had been captured, then why had she only identified as a Republic officer? Unless…

"Gadon, were there any more details to the pod's discovery? Was there anyone else in the pod?"

The Bek leader knew that he had hit on the right note. "I'm very sorry, no. But they did find a set of far paced boot prints, almost as if some other person was running from the pod, but other than that, that was it" offered Gadon. "But as far as your friend, things will not be good for her." Gadon pondered for a brief moment and then continued, "I have a proposal for you though…I will help you rescue your friend, but you must help me."

The Commanders gave it some thought and then nodded. What choice did they have? "Okay, what can we do for you?"

"In three days, the gangs will hold the Taris Annual Swoop Race. It's the biggest race in the sector," began Gadon.

"What does a race have to do with rescuing Bastila?" asked Carth bluntly.

Gadon'ssilver eyes opened wide, Knight was still interested in this second pod occupant. He turned toward Carth with his eerie, vacant glare. "_Bastila_…hmmmm," he said, musing over her name. "Well, let me finish. At every race, each gang must offer up a prize and the winner takes all. I have learned that your…Bastila has been offered as the prize."

Knight snorted. "Mighty fat prize, didn't think there were any thugs like that left in the Galaxy, human traffickers make pretty useful 'informants'."

"That is the reality of LoCity I'm afraid. In addition to winning the prizes, the victorious gang gains immense influence throughout LoCity. If the Vulkars were to win this year, they would be unstoppable. I daresay even Davik grows fearful of them. Here is my offer. I've heard from my sources that you are both good fighters. I want you to join a raiding party that will hit the Vulkars tomorrow night. We could use some extra muscle. Mission is the only one who knows the way and we must strike soon. I promise that during the raid, we will search for Bastila," said Gadon.

Carth nodded as Gadon spoke, eyed a pair of Theks whispering near a blast door. Then, a question struck him. "Why raid them now so close to the race?"

"If you have not noticed, we only recently moved here. Our last lair was overrun by the Vulkars, our prototype swoop accelerator was taken, and our best riders were killed. With the accelerator in Vulkarhands, they are almost assured of victory as we have few competent riders now. I would ride in the race but for my eyes…an accident three years ago."

Zaerdra put her hand on Gadon's shoulder and he grasped her hand lovingly.

"Sounds like a classic Coup de Ta. I'm up for it, Carth?"

"Okay, count us in," agreed Carth. He didn't like it, but again, what choice did they have?

Gadon provided them with a comfortable meal and a guest room. He explained quickly that Brejik had once been his protégé and designated successor, but that the ambitious Captain could not wait to gain power. "After my accident, Brejik hoped I would step down, but after it became apparent that this would not happen, Brejik betrayed us and went over to the Vulkars," he said with a mixture of sadness and anger. He focused his silver eyes into a hard glare. "Soon after, the traitorous Captain staged a coup within the Vulkars and seized power. He then launched a violent campaign against us, determined to eradicate our faction. Blood now flows freely in LoCity." Gadon shook his head sadly as he described his tale.

After Gadon bid them goodbye, Mission examined her jacket with great pride while Zaalbar slept.

Carth held his nose. "That Wookiee's breath…sheesh!"

"I keep telling him to brush those choppers of his," Mission giggled, "but does he listen?"

Knight grunted in amusement, sipping fom his flask of Scotch, and then brought up the bounties. They did have a while to kill before the raid and he wanted to maximize their time.

"I feel guilty having to wait to rescue Bastila," Carth sympathized, "I can't imagine what she must be going through in the hands of those brutes."

"You can't rush an operation; it compromises everyone's safety. We just have to hope she is still alive," Knight remarkedflatly, rigorously studying the profile.

"You're right. I don't want to think about it. Let's try to find Matrik," the Commander replied, looking away.

Mission's ears perked up. "Matrik? What do you want with him?"

"You know him?" Knight asked, not looking at her.

"Sure," answered Mission, "I bring him food. He's a hunted fugitive you know. Davik would pay dearly for his head…hey, you're not going to kill him, are you?"

"No, we'd like to help him actually. I heard he did some good things for people," answered Carth sincerely.

Mission stood with her hands on her hips. "Damn right he did. I'd be one of Davik's toys now if it weren't for him."

Knight nodded stoically, as a thought crept into his head. "I have an idea. You helped us, Mission, now let us help you."

Mission nodded, but with a hint of suspicion. Despite her misgivings, she took them to Matrik's hideout in an abandoned warehouse on the upper North side. Knight tugged at his Dragon's cloth strap that held it limp around his shoulder and back. The place had sat unused by sentient beings for a hundred years after it was built over in the construction craze that swept Taris that covered a third of the planet in metal, he didn't like abandoned warehouses, and anything with the term 'abandoned' in their title. Too many horror vids as a kid, he surmised. Mission called out to Matrik and he emerged, dirty and disheveled.

"Who are these people, Mission? Have you betrayed me?" he cried in Twi'lek. Knightheld his hand out when Cart went for his pistol, he himself gently switching off the safety of his Baulester.

"No Matrik…we're here to help. You have to keep trusting me. You saved me once, now I want to help you!"

Carth nodded to Knight, giving him the go ahead that he had him covered to talk. Knight brought up his hands, showing his intent to be non-threatening. "Matrik, my name is Jack, I'm here to help you. What you did three years ago for Mission was pretty damn noble in my book. I consider her my friend and we want to repay you for your kindness."

Matrik eyed the Spartan with some suspicion, but then he sighed. What did he have to lose? He was on his last legs in any case. "If _did_you worked for Davik, I'd be dead already. Okay, how will you help me?"

Carth took out the permacrete detonator that he had bought. "With this explosive, we will destroy the warehouse. We then put your blood on an item of your clothing and give it to Zax. We'll convince him that you're dead. We also know a makeup artist who can change your appearance."

Matrik shrugged. "Heck, I'm out of options anyway. I just had two near misses with that thug, Nord. My number is going to be up soon."

Mission took the detonator and rigged it to bring down the warehouse. Matrik cut his own hand with a knife and smeared generous amounts of blood on items of clothing. Carth cut the clothing to make it look as though he'd been in a fight. Knight brought out his field surgeon's kit and began stitching the gashes on Matrik's body. In a spectacular explosion, the warehouse went down. Smoke billowed out of the entryway in a roiling wave. They then took him to Lyn, who performed quite the makeup job on him. Matrik thanked them, giving them a handful of computer spikes. Knight tossed the awkward looking things in his hands, studying them with a mute interest.

"It's all I have, but you're welcome to it. Say, if you knew about me…you must also be looking for Selven. I know where she is, but watch yourself. She's psycho."

Knight smiled, showing a disturbing interest. "Psychopaths are my specialty."

Matrik gave them directions to find Selven. In the meantime, he would stay with Lyn until he got back on his feet. Following the directions Matrik had given them, they located Selven in the LoCity. Both Knight and Carth devised a tactical plan to capture her and it was flawlessly executed. After Knight had her stunned, and Carth had her cuffed they were hauling her before Zax the Hutt. Calo Nord stared at them incredulously. Despite his skill at tracking fugitives, he failed to find Selven or Matrik. A competitive sneer escaped his lips. Knight spied at the shorter man at from the corner of his dangerous white-blue eyes, and pushed the psychotic former bounty hunter forward and threw Matrik's bloody clothes on the ground before Zax.

Immensely pleased, the Hutt gave them each 2000 credits. "If you could bring in Bendak Starkiller, you would be legends in the bounty hunting world. Even Calo Nord wouldn't take on Bendak," Zax croaked with a chuckle. Nord merely snorted, but didn't disagree. The Hutt chortled with delight as Nord glared at them. Knight looked over to the bounty hunter and a chill ran down his spine. Whoever this Stranger was, he concluded, he was not someone that he would want to confront.

Back at the Bek's lair, Mission sat pensively on one of the beds. Knight laid down his gun on a bench next to her, and began to clean it gently. The young Twi'lek pushed her lekku back over her shoulders, obviously thinking about something. She chewed her lip and tapped her fist on the table. "You know, Jack, no one but Z has ever helped me _just_ to help me. I keep expecting you to use me somehow."

"I'm a Marine, Mission. I've got some pretty stone-set morals; and equally stubborn about keeping them. Using people for my own gain isn't one of them," a thought ocurred "Uuuunless of course they have it coming."

Mission smiled, and looked at the Spartan with her honey-brown eyes and began to sniffle. "Dammit. You don't cry here in LoCity. Just…just wanna say thanks."

Knight froze for a millisecond as a vision flooded his mind.

A small, wizened creature stood over him as he lay, unmoving. It had long, pointed ears and was wearing lush, blue robes. He looked down at him. A bandaged hand reached out for his, and was grasped gently.

"_Master Vandar, I'm glad to see you're not begrudged to see your old friend go off into the dark. What I ask of you now is help me do what I have been tasked to do, what my father has asked for me to do. I must never remember what I've done, or who I am. I must become what I once was, all those years ago. I must become the Spartan I was…Help a son hold true to a promise to his mother."_

The vision faded. Knight blinked and started to breathe heavily, after a moment, he went back to his rifle.

* * *

On the day of the raid, the Beks made great preparations, handing out grenades and fine tuning weapons. Mission toyed with her blaster pistol, pointing it around playfully.

"Hey, don't aim that at anyone you're not willing to shoot," admonished Carth. "A professional knows his equipment and what it can do."

Mission reluctantly put away her pistol. She pointed over to the Commander. "Hey Carth, you're a pilot, right? You must have gotten around. How does Taris compare to other worlds?"

He thought a moment and then frowned. "Well, actually, Mission, Taris would fair pretty low in many respects. I dislike the prejudice and corruption here. Frankly, it's not such a great place."

Mission became irritated, insulted at his description of her home. "Well, I'm sorry we're such a slime pit, great soldier."

"Hey, you asked, kid!" Carth retorted, his mood suddenly turning sour.

Stoically, Knight came between the two. "Focus people…Bastila…the raid?"

Carth gave a weak smile and nodded. "Sorry, Mission."

Suddenly, a Bek came running up to the young Twi'lek. "They got him! The Gamorreans got Z!" he shouted, gesticulating wildly.

The Twi'lek girl searched around as if Zaalbar would appear. Failing to find him, she became frantic. "What do you mean? He's okay, isn't he?"

The Bek shook his head. "Gamorrean slavers captured him in the Undercity. He was scavenging when they ambushed him. I saw them drag him off."

Mission grasped at Knight with a rare desperation. "We…we g-got to saaaave him! We gotta go now!"

Knight raised his hand as Mission continued to babble nonsense, his expression blank, and and planted a firm slap on Mission's cheek. After a moment, she said, "Thank you."

Knight smiled and nodded curtly. "Anytime."

Hearing the commotion, Gadon walked up with Zaerdra's help. His vacant eyes stared in their direction. "What's going on?" he asked.

Mission tried to formulate a response or explanation but couldn't will herself speak, so Knight did, in the dark commanding tone that all Spartan officers had. "Gadon, apparently some Gamorrean slavers took Zaalbar. Is it at all possible to stage a rescue?"

Gadon paused for a moment. He exhaled a long breath. "Yes, it is. I don't know…."

The Twi'lek turned abruptly, hands on her hips. "If we don't get Z, they'll be no raid. We find Z first, and then we hit the Vulkars." Her closest companion was in danger and she wasn't taking 'no' for an answer.

Gadon wrinkled his nose in displeasure. Mission's knowledge of the layout of the Vulkar hold was the key to success. "Okay, okay…dammit. Well, we have to go near the Gamorrean territory anyway. Dammit Mission, you need to keep that Wookiee in line. I'm going to push up our raid time just for you. We go at Ten PM."

"No," Knight said, slapping a mag into his Dragon, and charged it. "You go on with the raid, I'll get Zaalbar out."

"What?" Gadon proclaimed, double striding to Knight's position. "Are you out of you're damn mind, son? Those Gamorreans will _kill_ you if you're alone, no one of us could take all of them alo—"

"Maybe your men, Gadon, but not me" Knight said unfazed. "Maybe you and you're guard can't take those pigs out, but I can."

"And why is that, grunt-boy?" A Nikto Thek asked, practically demanded. "What makes you so much better tha—"

"I'm Raider, punk-ass, I can take on all of you thugs with nothing but this knife and you'd all _die_. Don't fuck with me unless you want an early death," with that, he grabbed his gun and stated to walk out, charging it. "Now I _am_ going to the Under City, and I _will _bring Zaalbar's hairy throw-rug ass back here, alive. If anyone wants to come with, they better do it now, or I will leave your asses here. Alright, Mission?"

Mission nodded reluctantly. She choked down a sob and said a silent prayer. Zaerdra held her as she rocked quietly, Carth followed him, holstering his pistol.

"That was something back there; half of them are getting their guns out."

"Then the other half better be readying their grenades. Lets go get Zaalbar."


	7. Chapter VI: Assault Warfare

_"Er Cartem L'endren, Cir Hartom Stritzcart"_

-"To defend the weak, and defeat the strong." Unofficial SAWTR motto.

* * *

**Assault Warfare  
0062:50:32 – (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders****  
Undercity Cargo Lift Approach, Taris Lower City South**

Knight wasn't in a mood to be fucked with, as Carth noticed. The Spartan's pace was gradually increasing to the point were Carthhad to nearly run to keep in step with him. He approached the Sith patrolmen guarding the elevator to the Under City, and the stout man briskly ran through the order-forms Knight produced. Every once in a while he would glance up and find the heated stare of the helmeted 'superior' officer, who stood impatiently as the man scanned the documents. Carth had donned night vision and the dimly lit LoCity took on a pale green hue, just has the Sith had returned the papers to Knight, his hand trembling furiously. The Beks accompanying them piled into the large elevator, awaiting the disguised soldier.

"Uh…sir," the patrolmen interjected, "what are they doing? It's dangerous down there and civilians should…"

"They're a relief party, Corporal," Knight's deep voice barked angrily, annoyed. "The twigs downstairs need some aid and I'm the lucky fucker who gets to bring them it. So unless you want to join me…"

"Err…No, sir! Just…"

"Good, now send us down."

"Bu…Yes sir."

The creaky elevator took them down untold levels beneath the long-forgotten surface of the planet. Only desperate refugees and the dreaded Rakhghouls lived here. Carth chuckled before saying, "Kind of snappy, eh, Knight?"

The Raider tilted his helmet-clad head to the man, saying nothing, and returned it to its original position. after several minutes the elevator came to a halt, the team filed out quietly, led by the Twi'lek urchin, Mission Vao. As added strength, two scores of Beks accompanied them, armed to the teeth. Despite the large force, Knight still felt like they were out numbered.

The Undercitywas little more than a cavernous hole filled withrusted and twisted metal beams, debris, sewage, and death. Ancient depleted reactors rose to the massive vaulted ceilings like huge temples. The skeleton of a star-fighter lay unceremoniously crashed withits thrusters still giving off a small amount of ionic radiation. Mission scanned the area with a look of dogged determination; she would rescue Zaalbar or die trying. Off in the distance, torches and bonfires flickered.

"That's the outcast village," mentioned Mission, "I have friends there. Z and I have explored most of this area," she said confidently and it was obvious that she was in her element here.

They moved to the village and a filthy, pale young woman greeted them. "Mission! I knew you'd come. You know they got Zaalbar!"

"I know, Shaleena. I'm here to get him back!"

Shaleena stared at Knight in shock. She observed the monsterously large Spartan soldier with awe as he loomed above her. "You're from UpCity…. I never met anyone from there. Is it…as beautiful as they say?"

Carth nodded. He gave a flattering description of the Uppercity to Shaleena's delight and gave the poor woman some photographs he had taken. As outcast children gathered, Carth and Knight gave them candy from Uppercity, causing them to squeal with delight. Somehow, this charity eased Carth's disgust at the horrid conditions these outcasts lived in.

Knight glared at them, the gaze stoic from the helmet he wore. This place seemed so familiar to him. It looked like a refugee camp; he'd only seen a few thousand of those in his days. But this place seemed…different. There was no salvation for these people at the end of the war; they'd always be here. As soon as this was over, he concluded, he'd bring a relief ship down here to help these people. He could do that much.

_Er Cartem L'endren,_ He thought, smiling to one side behind his mask.

A small Cathar cub approached him, curiosity present in her large, and pale yellow eyes. She couldn't have been any older than three…in Cathar years. Knight was up heartedly surprised at her, a Cathar in a slum like this; it seemed like a logical impossibility. But after he took in her less cat-like features, he came to the assumption that she was part of the Lesser Sub-Species of Cathar. The little cub rubbed her head against his armored shin, showing a rare Cathareanaffection, and scampered of with the rest of the children.

Surrounded by curious onlookers and grungy children, the raiding party pressed on further into the squalid village where Mission introduced them to Gendar, the chief. As Mission and several of the scouts would perform reconnaissance ahead of the group, Knight and Carthwould wait with him until their return. As they would find, Gendar was a strong leader and had held the tribe together through many trials. Despite his many hardships, he remained a gentle soul, dedicated to the welfare of his people.

Gendar'swife served some morsels of food and drink as the Chief talked with the newcomers, Knight removed his helmet and reviled his subtly scarred head and face to them, in a form of Spartan respect during a meal, he waited until Gendar and his wife began eating. The man paused at that, cleared his throat and spoke. He told them that many Sith had been through the village and had harassed the people.

"They were looking for a woman from a crashed pod," he continued. "We would have gone to her assistance if not for the recent Rakghoul incursions. Half a dozen villagers were attacked and have become infected."

As they spoke, an ancient man shuffled in. His pale, weathered face showed his many harsh years of life. His thin body, covered in soiled rags, was nothing short of cadaverous in appearance. Knight was amazed that he still had any life within him. He crept up to Knight and put his dirty hands on his rugged face. Knight stilled at the action, and the old man tilted his head to and fro and released him.

Gendar apologized. "I'm sorry, Rukil is old. He can be a little off at times."

Rukil snorted, crinkling the long lines on his face. "I am not crazy Gendar. This man has come to deliver us. He is the promised one," he rasped, pointing his bent finger at her.

Knight looked at Gendar, and cocked his head at the chief, raising an eyebrow. The chief rolled his eyes and shrugged with resignation. Knight knew that Gendar considered the old man crazy, but he'd seen worse; a lot worse. Ignoring the Chief's expression, Rukil continued, "It was foretold to me by my father and told to him by his father that a promised one would come to lead the tribe to the Promised Land."

"'The Promised Land?'" Jack stated, sipping a surprisingly sweet substance from a carbon-iron bowl. Rukil nodded as Gendar pursed his lips, obviously bored with the story. The old man explained, "The prophecy tells us that a man reborn shall come to you upon your century and shall guide your people from the land of shadow to the land of light. As your people are saved, so shall his heart be cleansed."

_'Man reborn?'_ Knight thought. _'Heart cleansed?' Do I want to know what I just ate?_

"The ancient words refer to an area created before the civil war and the time of darkness. It is a sanctuary where all our people's needs are met. During the war, our people were to seek refuge there, but the conflict destroyed the route and we are lost. My father and my uncle claimed to have found many clues to the whereabouts of the sanctuary, but during one expedition, they never returned. A week ago, my apprentice Malya disappeared while searching for clues. I refuse to believe that this is the end. It cannot be. I have lived one hundred years for this moment. You are the promised one."

Knight questioned him about how he identified him, but he could not explain it. "I know you are heading to the sewers. Please find Malya. If you find her, I know you will be able to guide us to the Promised Land."

"I'll see what I can do," Knight retorted, making no promise.

Soon thereafter, Mission returned. "There's not any Vulkars about, but I did see some other groups. We need to get going and find Z."

Knight scanned Mission's map and thought of a plan. "We'll need to split into two groups and rendezvous at the sewer entrance…here," he pointed to a marked area on the map. "This will maximize our area coverage and improve our ability to react to an ambush; we won't all get wiped out by one attack or one mine."

The Beks nodded and Knight gestured to Carth and Mission. The Lieutenant Commander added, "Carthand I will go with Mission and a few other Beksas an advanced party and the rest will follow five minutes after. The first group to the entrance will wait out of sight for the other group. Should twenty minutes go by with no contact, assume the other group to have been neutralized and proceed with the operation."

Carth raised an eyebrow. "'Neutralized?'"

Knight shrugged with a smile as the Chief dawned his orange leather jacket, pinning the Sith officer's insignia on the collars. "You can't expect everything to go according to plan, Carth."

He, Carth, mission, and a handful of Beks started out ahead of the second group and made for the village gate. A wall and metal slab had been erected around the village generations ago as a defense against the Rakhghoulsand other predators. At the gate stood several frightened sentries and a woman, who was peering through ports in the gate. Her hands were wrapped around the metal bars, straining with desperation.

She screamed to someone beyond the gate. "Hurry Hendar! Open the gate! Let him through!"

No one moved. Knight rushed up to the gate and saw a lone villager fleeing a pack of snarling humanoids with pale, mottled skin and radiation boils patterned on their bodies. His heart spiked. Rakghouls. Despite his trepidation at the sight of the feral monsters, he looked at the lead sentry. "Open the gate," he demanded.

"They'll overrun the village, we'll be killed!" the sentry replied in panic.

Knight snarled, and gripped the man by his shirt of rags. "So you're just going to let him die? _Open_ the fucking _gate_."

The man grimaced, but quickly dropped the gate. Knight was a blur the moment his foot left the dirt, he rushed through with his side arm and knife drawn, the rifle too large to quickly draw. The beast closest to the man leapt, its trash coated claws raised at his body, Knight fired his Baulaster and the bolt hit the beast in the head, killing it. The second animal got in front of Hendar and raised its arm to strike him. Knight narrowly caught the mutant's huge hands in his own just as it swung.

The ugly beast roared into his face, its vertical eyes narrow in rage and pressing at him with its huge arms, cords of muscle flexed beneath its molting, boiled flesh. Knight pushed back with all of his own might, adrenaline pumping through his body like diesel on an ancient combustible. On average, the human body only used a third of its muscles' strength, for Spartans it was more like half. The few remaining Raks in the Cancius hadn't been anywhere near this strong, but Taris was where these mutant predators originated, and everything was threes times stronger when they were purebred.

The strained muscles in Knight's body sent his brain electron messages coded for the warning that he needed more strength. His brain reciprocated, and sent a dozen single strand responses into his arms; releasing hundreds of thousands of enzymes that increased his strength ten fold. The struggling grip he held on the beast strengthened as the muscles grew rapidly, so much so that Knight crushed the beast's mighty hands in his own, blood splayed onto his armor and face, the white-purple smears steaming with radiation and drizzled down his body. It burned fiercely but he pushed it to the back of is mind. The creature roared in pain, but Knight forced its arms back so fast they snapped free of their joints.

Boned protruded from skin as the beast snarled in pain and rage, Knight sank his knife into the mutant's throat and pushed it to the side, leaving it nearly headless.

"Get back to the village!" He roared to the man standing by him, as he wiped the blood from his face, as another beast swung its arm at him, he caught the blow, and slammed his blade's razor edge through the limb, cutting it clean off. He kicked the screaming beast away like it was an empty barrel. "NOW!"

The villager obliged, and sprinted the remaining length to the gate entrance, Knight followed, killing the animals as he went. Carth and Mission fell in beside Hendar as well as the Beks, firing madly, giving the Commander time to draw his Dragon.

Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness in front of the gate and several Rakhghouls crumpled into the dirt, throwing up musty clouds. A mass of Rakhghouls lept over the fallen in blood frenzy, closing the distance. The whine of blaster fire continued as the horde was thinned, but the distance continued to diminish…30 meters…20 meters…10 meters. Hendar scampered toward the group, as the lone Spartan followed, waging his own little war against the animals; panting,covered in sweat and blood, roaring unintelligible Spatri curses and slurs at the beasts as he strove deeper into his element.

A lucky beast had blind sighted him and hit him in the side, cutting through the thick metal and carving open the skin, blood pooled from the wound. Knight roared as he emptied the last ten plutonium rounds into the thing's head. Carth waved him on as he holstered his pistol and quickly placed a small metal box in front of the group.

_This face toward the enemy,_ the box read.

With the last of his strength, Hendar dove past them, crashing into the ground. A wall of Rakhghouls emitted an unearthly wail at the prospect of fresh meat until Carth banged a control device three quick times. The box exploded in a wide cone toward the Rakhghoulsas thousands of ball bearings shredded them in a spray of flesh and blood. A few of the beasts staggered through the hail of death, but were easily dispatched by Mission with her vibrosword, Knight stood ahead of the blast area, catching his breath, treating his wound and washing blood off his skin. He sealed the opening in his under suit, making a mental note to have it replaced when they made it off the planet, and reapplied the newly fused protective plate to its place on his arm.

When the more than 30 Rakhghouls lay slain, Hendar rose to his feet. The gate opened and the woman, Hester, ran out. They embraced for a minute and then turned to thank their saviors, but the group was gone.

**

* * *

Thankful to have gotten past the Rakhghouls, Carth moved quickly in the direction of the sewer entrance, following Knight. He'd taken point of an arrowhead formation with Carth and Mission at the wings, and the two Beks left over from the Rakghoul fight had the back. Soon, nearly complete darkness overcame them as the lights of the village faded. Through his night vision, Carth caught glimpse of a Sith patrol coming in their direction; they had several wounded.**

Knight looked at Carth and they hailed them. At the sound of their voices, a Sergeant, dressed in red armor looked over.

_"You there! Civilians are not allowed down here! Who are you?" _the masked non-commissioned officer, or NCO, demanded.

Carth handed him some documents. "Search and rescue team...You'll find everything in order, Sergeant," he said tersely. Knight dipped into the dark, hiding the Raiders emblem and outlining the chiseled features of his face, but his stacked-double star Lieutenant Commander insignia was still present on his neck guard.

The NCO read the papers. _"Sorry, sir. You best be careful, we've lost two squads in two days. You'll find their bodies northeast of here near the Republic pod. I need to get my men back to medical and get more serum. Those damn Rakhghouls are everywhere."_

"Dooly noted, Sergeant," Knight responded. "We'll keep our eyes open. Dismissed."

_"Sirs!"_

Carth nodded as the Sith patrol staggered away. Then the two soldiers ran ahead with their Twi'lek companion in tow.

Three kilometers further through the muck and filth of Undercity, the sound of blaster fire was heard over a mound. Knight led the way up the mound to gain a view. Five men in a tight circle blasted at a horde of Rakhghouls assaulting them from all sides. One man was knocked over and dragged, screaming from the circle to be torn apart by a dozen beasts.

Instinctively, Knight and Carth dove went prone, blasters aimed at the Rakhghouls. "Cover us,"Carth told Mission, the Beks splaying out to cover.

As the men fought desperately, Rakhghouls suddenly began to fall around them. In their lust for blood, the ghouls failed to notice that another group was firing on them. Jack pumped several bursts into a group swarming around them. The enfilading fire decimated the ranks of the ghouls and the four survivors took heart. A tall, muscular man with graying brown hair and a scarred cheek led the four remaining men in a counterattack, slashing and blasting the Rakhghouls. Knight chucked a detonator over the slab of metal he and Carth laid behind; a quartet of Rakscharging the retreating group was engulfed in the super heated plasma explosion. Knight stood up on a knee and pumped a group of the mutants with rounds from his Dragon, Carth downed six in rapid succession, while Mission and the Beks faired very well against the grey-white beasts.

When all the ghouls lay slain, Knight stood up from cover and hailed the men. The man with the scar swung his big weapon around at him, but then lowered it. He studied Jack carefully.

"You," he said, "The one from the tournament. You're too late, the Vulkars have her."

"Who?" asked Knight, straight up, not quite as specific as he planned.

"You know who I mean. The Sith couldn't find her and neither could we. I saw the pod and it's got the mark of the Vulkars all over it. Davik is going to be quite displeased, but I've had it. I've lost seven men down here. You're welcome to stay, Spartan, but we're out of here."

"Whoa, hold up pal," Carth barked, "who are you and how do you know who he is?"

"Canderous is the name. Canderous Ordo. I'm a low down, good for nothing mercenary, beating up miscreants for Davik Kang. I saw you fight in the tournament. Davik had me check you out. Apparently, you brought in some bounties for him too. Quite impressive. That really pissed off that psychotic midget, Calo Nord, scared him too. I liked that."

Knight frowned. He didn't like the idea of having such attention, especially now. He nodded to Canderous and he waved his men on.

"I didn't like that guy," Carth said, Knight turned to him, an eyebrow cocked. "I don't know, instinct, I guess. Let's just make sure he's out of sight before we push on."

"Likewise," Knight commented, in the corner of his eye, he spotted a huge, rusted-red shape catapulting itself from the darkness, aimed for Mission. "Shit, move!"

Shoving Carth aside, Knight literally leapt towards the young girl, who turned her head to the gapping maw of the virtually unseen assailant. Knight tacklede the thing inches from Mission's head, and sent it to the ground. The beast landed on Knight, he cursed as his rifle scattered away.

The ugly beast looked like a Rakghoul, but it was bigger, and uglier, and stronger. Knight wrestled against the beast as it gripped his forearms, and held them in a constant struggle, and barely managed to kick it away. Knight stood and grabbed his knife, as the beast lashed an arm at him. Catching the tree-trunk size arm, he cut it off Purple-white blood spurted from the stump, yet the thing was unfazed; it simply knocked him to the ground with a seep of its leg. Knight collapsed, momentarily stunned, but rolled away to his rifle, only to have the thing jump on top of him.

"Agh! Shit!" Knight cursed, the beast's rancid breath washing over his face. It smelt like garbage and rotting flesh. Carth rushed over and pointed his pistol at the struggling pair.

"What're you waiting for?" Mission yelled. "Shoot him!"

"I can't get a clear shot,"Carthsaid, swiping the sights of his pistol as the beast snapped its maw at Knight who held the things neck away withone arm, and its remaining arm with the other, its huge jaws just barely missing his face.

"SSSSCRAAAAA!" The thing roared, Bishop, not twenty yards away, camouflaged under a pile of debris and garbage, staring through the sights of his holo-scope, adjusted the zoom to a fourth of the full power and peered through it. He saw a handful of figures. One, a girl, was tugging at the orange leather vest of a man holding a blaster pistol pointed to his left, near by, a group of thugs aimed guns in the same direction the man held his pistol; he rotated his rifle to the direction.

His stomach lurched. _Jack, ah shit… _He held the gun tight against his shoulder. He took in two slow, deep breaths and exhaled, leveling the cross hairs of the sights, and wrapped his finger around the trigger and counted down in his head.

_Three…two…one…_ He squeezed off the shot.

Knight struggled underneath the animal, listening to Mission and Carth squabble. "Carth! Take the shot!" He yelled.

"What? I can't get a—"

"Take the shot!" The beast's head exploded outwards, blown apart by a blaster bolt and covering Knight in blood. The corpse twitched a few times, not registering that its head was now ripped to bits, and fell to the side like a pile of meat.

_"BOOM! HEADSHOT!"_ Knight winced at the sudden yell exploding in his ear. Immediately getting up, he reached for his canteen and popped it open and poured it over his head quickly, rinsing away the scalding blood before it did .

_"Looks like you needed a bit of a hand, sir,"_ a semi-sarcastic voice sounded over the COM. _"Glad I was here to help."_

"Bishop!" Knight laughed, seeing an armored figure similar to his own. "Glad to see you made it out, Marine."

_"Sir,"_ the other Raider acknowledged. _"Situation's pretty FUBAR, sir, Raks are hitting the area pretty hard, already seen Sith scouting parties get torn apart be these Bull Raks,"_ he gestured to the dead mass nearby. _"Tough-ass bastards, one of them tore apart an entire platoon."_

"Shit," Knight rubbed the back of his neck. "That's great."

_"So,"_ Bishop said, _"Guess you're back in command, sir."_

"Guess so, Executive Lieutenant."

**

* * *

**

Pressing on for another click, they encountered the crashed escape pod. Carth scanned it quickly, and shook his head. Bishop slammed his fist into the side of the pod, denting it heavily.

_"Bastila _was_ aboard. Damn…damn…this is not good."_

Knight glanced around in the gloom to see a handful of Vulkars lying on the ground, heavy blaster scars present on their bodies. His in-suit computer compared the burns withknown blaster types, and all came back with the type.

"Sith actually came here to look for her, guess these bastards met them, eh, Bishop?"

The other Raider grunted in acknowledgment.

Nearby, Mission and the Beks found six Sith bodies, torn by claws and teeth. Their once shiny armor was covered in sticky blood; she hailed the pilot and the Spartan. Several of the dead had black, ballistic pouches containing metal syringes. Carth examined one. "Rakhghoul serum..." Closing the pouch, they gathered the rest of the Sith items and more serum.

Leaving behind the carnage, Mission led them to the sewer entrance and they were joined by the rest of the team. Carth gave Knight a worried expression. "It didn't look very good back there," he commented darkly. Hope seemed to have left him. The Raider ran his tongue along the front top gums of his mouth, and shook his head.

Mission looked over the filthy old gate to the sewer elevator. "Zaalbar and me have explored much of these sewers looking for salvage. The Gamorreans never gave us trouble before, but now they're gonna pay."

The girl twisted some tattered wires and the gate opened with a metallic grinding sound. They boarded the ancient lift and the gate creaked closed with a clang. Fluorescent lights flickered on and the lift lurched downward. A mechanical voice crackled. _"Sub Level One..."_

The sewers once serviced the great city when there was still some planetary surface exposed. Service corridors and lifts were once used by maintenance droids to keep the sewers running, but were now used by Gamorreans and unseen horrors of the depths. The lift came to a halt several levels down and they exited cautiously. Carth was amazed at how Mission had no fear of these dangers and even embraced the challenge of eluding them; even as she walked, unfazed, around a disheveled body lying at their feet.

_Passing a moldering corpse, _Carth thought. _How has she survived for so long?_

Knight and Bishop filed out after her; each of the Raiders' rifles ahead of them, tiny red-dots of their laser aiming modules bouncing on the walls as they did, barrel mounted flash-lights were ignited and illuminated the darker corridors were anything could be hiding, eyes peering down the sights of their holo-scopes. Carth guessed that she survived the same way the Spartans did: Not everyone was going to make it, so you had to be as good as you could be, and make the best choice in friends. He knelt down to examine the body.

Wrinkling his nose slightly, and exhaled sharply, Knight squated next to him. The smell of decomposition was strong. By the look of the remains, it was an outcast woman who was only recently deceased. Bishop cocked his head to the side as Carth handed Knight a data pad, and realized it had a system lock on it; Bishop motioned for it, and the Commander tossed it to him. The Raider activated the pad, hacked the system and began reading.

_"This is a journal, of a...Malya...Malya Grenova..." _Knight looked at him. _"You know her?"_

"Rukil's apprentice. It say anything alse, John?"

_"Not much...Poor kid...it seems that she learned where the bodies of Rukil's father and uncle lay, but there's nothing after that. She was making preparations to get to the bodies, God knows what happened..."_

Carth looked at the two Spartans. "I guess that's one mystery solved. I feel very sorry for these people. They live such a short, brutal life."

Bishop stuffed the data pad in his survival-bag and they continued on as Mission grew more anxious with every step. "This way...The Gamorreans are this way," she whispered urgently.

Leading the way through long, sludge filled corridors, Mission advanced with determination. As they entered a large, circular room, Mission suddenly crouched and put her hand up, Knight and Bishop crouch-ran to her position. Lights could be seen up ahead, moving toward them. "Gamorreans," whispered Mission, "I can smell them."

Carth moved up and set a flash-mine, Jack joined him, keeping an eye on the approaching lights. Bishop silently directed the Beks to form an 'L' at the mouth of the corridor. He would let the Gamorreans enter the larger room and order the Beks facing the enemy to open fire when they entered the kill zone. The flanking line would then open fire and the mine would be detonated by command.

On cue, the Gamorreans blundered into the area. Bishop and Carth looked at Knight for the right time to act. He shook his head, and held up three fingers, and counted down.

_Three…Two…One…_

Carth gave the signal and the ambush was sprung. Within a minute, the Gamorrean patrol lay dead. Bishop looked down at the corpulent, pig-like beasts known for their crude, violent ways; Knight put a hand on his shoulder and shook it. The Beks looted the bodies and the party pressed on. Moving quickly, they eliminated two more patrols before they snuck up on the Gamorrean control center.

At the entrance to the center, Carth had the Beks stack behind him, Knight and Bishop as they prepped sonic and frag grenades. Mission worked on the locking mechanism and then gave the thumbs up signal. Knight smirked, and looked at Bishop.

_"Ready to rumble," _he whispered. The door shot open and they both threw in a sonic grenade followed by a frag grenade from Carth'shand. The sonic weapon detonated with a noise so loud, the Gamorreans reeled, holding their ears. Shrapnel then flew from the other deadly sphere and smoke, howling, and confusion ensued.

A lone Bek rushed in and one immediately ran into a mine. It exploded in a spray of metal, blood, and flesh as the Bek disintegrated. Ignoring the carnage, Knight and Bishop flipped from their cover on each side of the door, pumping rounds into Gamorreans filing into the room as support. Carth pulled his pistol and dropped one Gamorrean as blaster fire tore through the air of the room.

Gamorreans staggered or fired randomly in response as Mission charged in with her pistol blazing. Seeing Mission's reckless behavior, Bishop ran after her, firing his rifle in cover. Gamorreans fell around him as he let his rifle fall on its sling and switched to his mini-machete. As screams and blaster bolts flew around him, Bishop charged the Gamorrean chief. The bloated brute swung a heavy vibroaxe at his armored head, but he ducked and sliced him across the thigh, the razor sharp blade cutting into the bone. He grunted in pain as blood ran down his leg. The chief staggered and swung his axe again, striking a glancing blow on Bishop's shoulder. A metal plate flew off of his thick body armor and clattered to the ground.

From behind the Gamorrean, Mission crept up and fired a shot into the chief's back. The particle beam splattered in bright colors and the chief howled in pain. Seeing the opening, Bishop then drove his crude melee weapon into his fat gut, sinking the blade in up to the hilt. The chief gagged in pain, looking at Bishop in horror, the Spartan pulled at the blade with one mighty tug and tore a gash two feet long from its entry point to the side of the thing, and kicked it over. The pig's intestines spilled onto the grated floor.

Once the smoke cleared, the team determined that only four of the Bekshad been killed and a fifth badly wounded in the fray. As Knight and one of the Beks attended to the injured man, Mission unlocked all of the adjacent cells. The massive Wookiee, Zaalbar staggered out into the Twi'lekgirl's open arms, enveloping her withhis bulk. She squealed with delight, ignoring his rancid odor. The giant Wookiee then strode purposefully up to Knight and warbled submissively.

"You're welcome. Not like we could just leave you here, was it?" He huffed in Spatri.

Zaalbar continued and Knight's eyes grew narrow. "What do you mean 'life debt'? You don't owe me anything."

The Wookiee calmly explained that in his culture, a life debt would be pledged to one who had made a significant impact on the debtor's life. The life debt did not enslave the debtor, but created a bond in which the debtor would protect the charge with his or her life if necessary. Zaalbar, it seemed, wanted to pledge his life to Knight.

"Zaalbar, I'm not like Mission, I'm not gonna stay in one safe place my whole life, where I go-" Bishop coughed. "Where _we_go, there's a very, very high chance you won't come back. Is this something you are sure of?" Asked the Spartan seriously, continuing to speak in his guttural language. The huge Wookiee nodded his head and Knight ran a hand over his stubble hair, and itched at the one on his face. He paced several times. Finally, after a moment, he sighed, and replied, "Then, I will try to do honor to your decision."

_This must be pretty deep, not sure what I'm getting into, but I sure as hell don't want to upset him. I'm not sure I can hold off a pissed Wookiee_.

As this went on, Carth and Bishop finished securing the area and accessed the dilapidated main computer. Between the buzzes and bleeps, he determined that they had encountered the main force of Gamorreans. "I think it'll be fairly clear from this point," he said with authority.

_"Let's hope so, we can't handle another attack like that,"_ Bishop pointed out. Knight nodded.

After a brief conference, they decided that the raiding party would leave behind one member with the critical casualty. Knight gave the man a couple of medpacs and some rations and wished them well. If all went as planned, they would be returning this way. Picking up one of the Gamorrean vibroaxes, Zaalbarfell in withthe team. His strength would come in handy.

The team pressed on through dank corridors deeper into the sewer complex and they ambushed a group of Rakhghouls holed up in a maintenance chamber. As the team scoured the area, a number of dead villagers were found. A long dead skeleton in particular stood out, grasping a data pad in its rigid hand.

Bishop took the pad and examined it. He replaced the power cell and turned it on. A light flickered on the monitor and Bishop wiped off the long-dried blood and dirt. As before, it was a journal, one made by Rukil's father many years ago. He had been to the Promised Land described by Rukil and was returning to share his findings. The journey took months. His final, sad entry found him trapped in this chamber by the Rakhghouls. His food was running out and the door would not hold them for very long.

The Spartan shut it off, just before the Raks burst open the door and devoured him. _"If__ this _is _Rukil's father, I think we've found their Promised Land."_

"At the cost of several good-hearted men, yes," Knight agreed solemnly, his face again devoid of expression. Bishop grunted.

"Wow, ol'Ruk's been telling me about that place for years. I've never been to this part of the complex. Z and I usually avoided the Gamorreans. It's too bad he couldn't find it before," Mission chirped in.

"If only they had better weapons and training," Carth added. "They might have found it long ago."

_"Hence the use of 'might', Onasi,"_ Bishop remarked.

They buried Rukil's father as best they could and pressed forward. They were down to only four Bek raiders and the odds of success had diminished. As expected by Mission, they came to a powerful force field. "The Vulkars think this keeps them secret. I've been through here a hundred times," she boasted. Mission slid a key card into a slot and entered a code. With a sizzling sound, the force field faded.

"Now we gotta do is get past the rancor," the Twi'lek added cheerfully.

"RANCOR!" the Beks yelled. Bishop exchanged a glance with Knight, who shrugged.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…a rancor?" asked Carth, with serious concern. A rancor, a monstrous and violent beast standing up to 8 meters tall with massive teeth and claws equally long. They were not known for their intelligence, but for an unending appetite and cruel temper.

"Yeah, it's kind of a big one. The Vulkars use it as a pet to guard the rear entrance. Sometimes some of them get eaten, but it does keep others out. I ran past it a couple of times," Mission said with glee. The Wookiee nodded to confirm this.

"Oh great," groaned a Bek. Carth brushed back his dark brown hair. With a huff, he tweaked his night vision, adjusting the sensitivity. He and the others sat for a moment, eating an energy bar and trying to think of ways around the hungry monster.

"Don't worry, Carth, you got two raiderss on your side, it can't go that bad."

_"Can't go that ba—Kid, where the fuck does it say 'Free Rancor Extermination Service' on my face!"_

"Hey! I ain't no ki—"

_"Well, you sure as hell don't look grown up to me!"_

"That's enough, out of all of you!" Knight barked, cutting in between the two. "These things aren't invincible."

_"No, but they damn near are."_

"Remember what Shorty drilled into us? Get anything to bleed..."

Bishop grunted sharply, fuming and muttering rapid strings of Spatri under his breath before reluctantly replying, _"And we can kill it."_

After the quick snack, they rose and began to walk to the great hall where Mission indicated the rancor would be. At the massive door to the hall, a recently severed arm lay on the ground. Something unbelievably huge had bitten through the meat and bone of this appendage. Carth picked up the arm gingerly. "Rancor definitely got this guy."

"He's only a Vulkar, who cares?" Mission said brusquely. "Hey, what's this?" Mission picked up a bloody data pad and a black, nylon pouch. Opening the pouch, she pulled out three Stoppard vials. She then activated the pad.

"These punks were trying to train the rancor…named Tiny by the way. The vials are of some kind of animal scent. I s'pose they were gonna try and lure it around when it was hungry. Oh, one of the vials is this…aphrodisiac…what's that?"

"Uh…never mind that one," advised Knight, who stuffed it into the chem-pack on his belt. "Just give me the food scent. Bishop, hand me one of your Thermo-Dets."

The Executive Commander tossed him the grenade, Knight grabbed the nylon pouch, dropped it in, and added his own grenade. Mission handed him two vials, he added them as well, and she slowly opened the door to the hall. In the center of the hall was a pile of bones with a mountain of scaly flesh sleeping nearby. All of the hairs on Knight's body raised in alert at the sight of the giant creature. Fore-arm length razor sharp teeth protruded from its flat face below slits that were used as nostrils.

Mission pointed to a tall, metal door on the far side. "Okay, we just gotta sneak past this thing."

_"Easier said than done, kid."_

They crept forward slowly, ever watchful of the monster. Its hulk rose and fell slowly with the rhythm of its breathing. Mission turned a switch on her belt and she began to fade and blur before their very eyes. Although still visible, she blended in well with the surrounding area. Knight motioned for Bishop to stay behind the group, while he followed took point.

At the pile of bones, one of the Beks began rummaging through the festering remains. Annoyed, Carth gave him a signal to cease.

_Damn gang members, no discipline. We need trained soldiers for this._

The man pocketed a few items and moved away, Knight fell back to hurry him along. As he exited the pile of remains, he stepped on a long bone, snapping it.

CRACK!

Two enormous eyes opened. The beast was awake, and looked right at Knight and the Bek. Knight eyes the Bek murderously, tightly clentchinghis jaw. It rose with a dexterity Carthhad thought impossible for something that size, Bishop dove out of its reach. With a sweep of its claw it grasped the bone snapping Bekand popped him in its mouth like a piece of candy. It looked down at Knight and roared.

"Open fire!" Knight yelled, dumping a full clip into the beast.

The screaming began as Carth fired shots into the rancor's thick hide. The other Beks opened fire, but the shots were mere pinpricks on the scales of the rancor. One courageous Bek hurled a grenade at the beast, sending a shower of fragments into its leg. It staggered, but then resumed its rampage, swatting the Bek with its claw. The man splattered against a wall and crumpled to the ground.

A strange, but increasingly familiar feeling came over Knight. This time, he felt no fear despite the obvious danger, not like he had any other time in his life; but against big things like this, he felt at peace. The rancor moved in slow motion as he poured rifle shots into it. The feeling seemed to be guiding, compelling him to do something. Giving in to the feeling, he released his grip on the rifle and grabbed the nylon pouch he had, and armed the detonators, setting them for 'remote', and grabbed one of the vials, broke it and threw scent vial nearby to distract the monster. When it turned away, he charged forward.

_"Jack!"_ cried Bishop as he moved to the exit.

Guided by unseen hands, the Lieutenant Commander leapt and shot at the beast's knees. In anger, the beast roared, and swiped at him. Knight dodged it easily, jumping between the thing's legs, rolled back and pumped a few rounds into its face, resulting in the ugly thing swiping at him with one of his claws; he grasped the wrist of the rancor with his left arm. On instinct, the beast lifted him up off of the ground and dangled him above its gaping maw. A row of long, sharp teeth awaited him.

With his free hand, he fired several shots into the beast's face. The animal snarled in pain, and roared at him, Knight released the pouch into the rancor's throat, and he verbally commanded the detonation. As the grenades went off, blowing huge sections of the beast's upper body away, he then swung off of its arm, bouncing off of its shoulder aiming for the ground were he landed hard with a grunt. It tottered for a moment before staggering forward. Knight looked straight ahead as the massive body fell toward him.

The hulking corpse crashed beside him, mere feet from his form, throwing up rocks and mud high into the air. Knight stood motionless for a moment, his eyes so white they were impossible to stare into, the rest of the raiding part stood with mouths agape in shock, horror and awe. Finally, Knight blinked away the feeling that gripped him, and realized that the remains of the group was gaping at him with massive eyes. "What?"

_"THAT STILL ONLY COUNTS AS ONE!"_ Bishop yelled, laughing heartily.

Knight looked at his shakinhands and went for his canteen and gulped water from it, taking several long pulls and shook his head. In a few short bursts of sprinting, he caught up with the group. "Well, now, that has to be the dumbest damn thing I've ever done in my life," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

A smile broke on the faces of the group. _"Don't worry about it,"_ Bishop chuckled.

Carth nodded. "You did a damn fool thing, brave thing there. We'd all be rancor food now if not for you."

With the beast dead, they tended to the fallen; two more Beks had perished; now only ten remained. Searching the area, they gathered a sizeable amount of credits and some undamaged weapons from the remains. Mission breathed a sigh of relief as she moved to the exit. She listened for a moment and then turned to the team.

"Shush, someone's coming."

Knight, with a quick motion of his hands, positioned the group into cover. Two voices could be heard on the opposite side of the door. "Tiny's making a racket again. Ha ha, probably more of those stupid Flashing Corsairs trying to get in or maybe even those idiot Beks."

The door shot open and two reptilian Vulkars peeked in. In a flash, Mission and one of the Bekswere behind them with garrotes. The cords tightened around their scaly necks and the Vulkars gasped, but faded without much of a struggle.

The way to the Vulkar stronghold was open.

* * *

Knight and Bishop took point, with riffles raised, they entered the compound, each of the Spartans checked to ensure that their weapon's suppressors were on. The others entered through the supply room and picked up some mines and grenades. Mission led them to the exit. "I know there's a computer room nearby. It controls the defenses for this level. I've never gone beyond that though."

_"There's always a first time for everything," _Bishop joked, Knight elbowed the man, grinning. Mission looked at them quizically for a moment before going back to work.

A short corridor led from the supply room to several doors. The depleted team stacked at the door to the computer room, while Mission covered the rear. On the cue, Carth opened the door, surprising three Vulkars. In a flash, the team struck them with overwhelming force. They quickly secured the area and shut the door. Carth removed his helmet, and glanced around.

With a grin, the Twi'lek girl sauntered up to the computer and sliced into it. "My brother Griff taught me this."

"I didn't know you had a brother," said Carth.

"He's temporarily off of Taris, looking to make a fortune. He'll come back for me when he does and we'll live like those snotty nobles in UpCity. If it wasn't for that slime-o Lena, he'd still be here."

Bishop watched Mission tear through layers of encryption and bring up the security camera system, genuinely impressed. _"How long has Griff been away?" _Bishop asked.

"Oh, only…only ummm, three years. It takes time to make a fortune, you know." Mission rotated through several camera views, showing a barracks, a pool, an elevator and an armory as Bishop focused on her, Knight laughed at the thought of the loom on his face. "Watch this!" Mission giggled.

She played with some of the settings in the barracks and the Vulkars in the room began screaming and writhing in pain. They soon fell out of their beds, dead.

"I vented toxic air through the ventilation system. No biggie," Mission said as she switched to another command menu.

"Who's Lena," Knight asked, also impressed at the girl's computer skills.

Mission scowled. "Oh, her! She lured Griff into some bad debts and that's why they had to leave. Uhh, the Exchange was after him. I haven't heard from him in two years and I know it's because of her." She angrily punched several commands. "Okay, all force fields and security doors are off."

With that, they departed the computer room. Along the way, they captured a Vulkar outside of the armory. He ducked behind the desk as Knight and Bishop fired a trio of suppressed shots.

"Come out!" Knight shouted his eye still aimed down the holographic sight of his Dragon. "Hands up, weapon on the floor, or you're gonna get very religious, _very_ fast!"

The Twi'lek Vulkar stood up, raised his hands, but did not cower or beg. "I surrender," he told them directly, "I have no loyalty to Brejik."

Knight motioned for Carth to go and secure him, obliging the command, Carth disarmed him, taking his pistol. They moved the captive Twi'lek into the armory and seated him in a cleared area. Mission began to pillage the various parts and weapons that were lying around. Knight stood next to the Twi'lek and began to question him.

"I can tell you're not as afraid of my XO and I like the others. You're certainly different from the other Vulkars," he said.

"I am Juril, once one of the inner circle of Vulkars…when the name meant something. Three years ago, Brejik defected to us and we thought we had gained a significant advantage against our rivals. Within a year, he assassinated our leader, Karo, and consolidated power. His cronies and sycophants moved up and now I am here, guarding the armory on the midnight shift," Jurilwas surely bitter over his fall from grace and Knight could empathize with his plight.

_"Don't worry, mate,"_ Bishop said, easing some of the stress on the man by patting him on the shoulder. _"We won't hurt ya, but I can't let you go yet. If you want, we'll put you in the supply room and you can come with us upon our return,"_ the Commander offered.

Juril agreed and told them where the swoop accelerator could be found; on the upper level in a swoop bike shop. He gave them a map and the codes to shut down the upper level blaster turrets.

As promised, Jurilwas shut into the supply room and left with some food. The team pressed on toward the elevator to the upper level, liberating slaves that the Vulkars had taken in raids. One forlorn woman told the group that she was taken when her father could not pay a debt to Davik. When he was finished with her, he gave her to the Vulkars in a bargain. She picked up a weapon from a fallen Vulkar. "Let me join you, please?" She begged.

Carth shook his head. "It's too dangerous. We'll put you in the supply room and get you when we come back."

The others agreed, but the one woman slammed the weapon on a table. "I can fight! I'm coming with you. I'm going to kill those Vulkars!"

Knight stormed over to her, and put a hand over her mouth, and backed her into the wall. He looked at Bishop, who brought up a thermal scan of the area on the holo-view of his suit, then shook his head. Nothing moved, they hadn't heard.

"Okay, stop yelling. You can come, but you must follow everything I say. Do you understand? Compromise this operation, and I will kill you, understood?"

The woman nodded slowly, he released her. "I'm Kala. I was once the daughter of a merchant here."

Carth handed her some body armor and helped her to strap it on. They then followed Juril's map to the elevator. Mission pushed the up button and entered the turret disable codes. When the door opened, six cold blaster turrets greeted them; the code worked.

A corridor from the elevator led to a cavernous bay filled withswoop bikes and mechanic droids. Mission moved to a couple of the droids and messed withtheir programming. "Let's just chill a bit and let my pets do their work," she said. With a buzzing noise, the two droids floated off in search of prey. Soon, faint sounds of blaster fire could be heard and the panicked yell of surprised Vulkars. Mission smiled and raised one finger, then two, then three. "Okay, let's get'em."

The team rounded the corner with Zaalbar, Knight, and Bishop in the lead. The Wookiee aimed his Bowcaster and dropped a Vulkar with a large quarrel that burst into showering sparks, a few more stood; ready to fire, Knight and Bishop squeezed off a set of suppressed shots and two fell dead. Next to the Wookiee, Mission took careful, deadly aim and squeezed off a blaster bolt. The Vulkar grabbed his face and fell to his knees. "Just die already," she snorted and fired another shot into her enemy.

Knight waved his hands, and Carth moved to the flank and poured on some fire as Kala screamed in rage at her former tormentors. Zaalbarsaw an opening and rushed in witha stout metal club and swung it with inhuman force at one of the enemy. The mighty Wookieeconnected with his enemy and the club shattered bones, dropping the foe like a sack of credits. When the last Vulkarfell, Kala tore at him with her hands until Bishop pulled her back.

_"Come, we are not finished yet. There'll be time later," he said._

_Suddenly, a voice rang out causing the team to take hasty cover. They turned to see a Twi'lek man crouched behind some swoop bikes amid a group of Vulkars. "I am impressed with your handiwork. I never would have thought the Beks had the intelligence to penetrate our defenses. Oh, I see…Mission Vao…I might have known. But even you couldn't have fought your way here without help. Hmmm…humans…and not wearing Bek colors."_

Carth crept to the side, holding his pistol at the ready. Bishop lowered his rifle slightly, breathing heavy from the fire-fight. _"You're right, we're not Beks."_

The Vulkar continued, "I am Kandon Ark, Brejik's captain. You fought incredibly well. Perhaps you might consider an offer?" the Twi'lek asked as he silently signaled his men to circle around to the rear of the team. He eyed Knight cautiously, the white eyes of the Spartan dead cold.

"Eat rancor poo, Kandon!" Mission cried out.

"Always the proper girl I see, Mission," retorted Kandon with a twitch of his lekku. "Human, I could make you rich and famous. I have a way to kill Gadon. Do this and the Vulkars will be in your debt."

_"Don't listen to'em, Knight" _Bishop said. _"You know how Spartans are to their kind."_

The Vulkars drew back at Bishop's words. The Beks had a Spartan on their side? Two of them; this was not favoring their goals.

"Fuck off, Kandon," Knight answered. "I don't negotiate with terrorists like you and the Vulkars."

Kandon looked around the room, confused by so many different people answering him from different locations. He became impatient. "Don't shackle yourself to a losing team, Spartans! The Vulkars will win this!"

The Twi'lek thumbed a button, and a score more Vulkars flooded into the small room. "Look at yourselves; you're out numbered, out gunned! You can't possibly survive."

"I like those odds," Knight raised his gun, taking aim at a few Vulkars behind him.

"Well I didn't go to all the trouble of acquiring this prototype just so you could steal it back for that old fool!"

His flanking force stood up and threw grenades to where they thought the Beks would be. As the grenades left their hands, Bishop, Carth and Knight stood up to their side and shot them down in a hail of fire.

Bishop wasted a half clip blowing the heads off few charging Vulkars, one, an Aqualish, took his to the chest, but kept coming. Calmly, he introduced the bottom of his boot to his face.

Knight squeezed a few rounds into a group giving heat to the remaining Beks, giving them a little breathing room by building up his agro, making him the prime threat.

Chaos broke out and Mission continued to crawl toward Kandon. Wookiee howls and blaster bolts rang through the room as Kandon saw a Bek moving to the side. Brejik's captain sneered and fired his weapon, frying the Bek.

Suddenly, Kandon's leg was on fire. He looked down to see that Mission had sliced his Achilles tendon. He howled, trying to aim his blaster down at the girl, but Carth stepped in front of him.

"Down you go!"

**

* * *

**Kandon Ark lay dead as fumes of burnt ozone floated lazily from the barrel of Carth's blaster. The team had lost another Bek, but they gathered quite a haul in credits, equipment, and armor. Best of all, Mission had found the swoop accelerator, after splicing into a network safe that took several minutes to crack. The Beks reverently put the mechanical device into a cushioned crate.

"We need to get moving,"

Bishop said, moving to the door.

Carth nodded. "Okay, let's find Bastila and blow this joint," he said tersely.

Mission hacked back into the security system and watched the surrounding area.

"Dammit. Sorry Gramps, Brejik moved Bastila yesterday. He thought something like this might happen. Paranoid snot, isn't he? Speaking of Brejik, he's headed this way with a horde of Vulkars and droids!"

Knight and Carth peered over Mission's shoulder and saw an enraged Brejikrunning with many more troops then they could handle. Bishop pressed his back to the door frame and leaned out slight to the left, he waved a hand at the wrist to signal and all clear. Knight hung his head and gave a frustrated sighed, turning to the group.

"Okay, we've got to leave. We're going to need to win that swoop race," he motioned for the team to move.


	8. Chapter VII: The Thirteen-Twenty

**_A/N:_****_ So, for those that have been waiting, here it is. Bit of info: A Lieutenant Colonel is often called a 'Short' Colonel because of the silver oak leaves used for rank insignia where as a regular Colonel has an Eagle with spread wings, called a 'Full Bird' Colonel._**

**_-Jake Leake  
_**

* * *

_"Finishing races is important, but racing is more important."_  
**– Dale Earnhardt**

_"After the third flip, I lost control..." _**  
****– **Don Roberts after crashing in the Jade Grenade at New England Dragway in 1975.

_"__God is not on the side of battalions, but on the side that shoots best."  
_**- ****Unknown Sniper**

**"The Thirteen-Twenty"  
0069:00:00 – (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Vulkar Stronghold, Taris Lower City**

With Brejik and his goons approaching fast, the team beat a hasty retreat from the Vulkar stronghold. Carth's disappointment was evident and the weight of the Republic's impending doom lay upon him, Jack rested a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. They'd get Bastila back, Knight had promised. And he'd be damned if he broke it.

"Think she's alright?"

"She's a Jedi, Carth," Knight reminded the pilot, "I'm sure she can handle herself, now let's move, Chief-Com, we got a long way back."

Nodding, Carth picked up his pace to match the rest of the groups. Along the route of their exit, they gathered up the liberated slaves and Juril and ran past the rancor body. The rest of the journey back to the village was surprisingly uneventful.

There, Knight approached old Rukil 'Wrinkle Skin' and handed him the data pads. "I'm sorry to say your apprentice is dead," said Knight, his voice apologetic. "Your father as well…but I have some good news. From my Executive Officer's examination of the data," he pulled up the holopad's zoom, his finger hovered over a location for a moment, and then he pressed it. A path sprawled its way from that point to theirs. "This the way to your Promised Land."

Gendar nearly fell over in surprise as Rukil put his hands together. A joyful moan escaped his lips. All his life he had waited for this moment. There, on the data pad, was a clear pathway to the Promised Land. It would be a long and difficult journey, yes, but the pad provided codes and hidden passageways to their goal. Knight tossed a sack of several vials to Bishop, then gave to the healer, Esala, enough of the Rakhghoul serum for the infected villagers, along with a few med-kits; he kept two for Doctor Forn for mass production, stuffing them away in a pouch on his hip.

Gendar looked at the team. "You have our eternal thanks. Your names will never be forgotten by our people even though we will be deep under the ground for many ages." As Gendar gathered his people for a council, the team departed quietly.

"They'll still have a long, dangerous road ahead, but I think Gendar is the man to lead them," said Carth.

Bishop keyed the retraction device for his helmet, and showed his face to the Chief Commander for the first time. Unlike Knight, Bishop had medium dirty-blond hair, as apposed to Jack's black stubble. Bishop likewise didn't have many scars like his CO, the most prominent being one jagged cut that bisected his left cheek, starting from the base of his jaw and disappearing behind his ear, form the looks of it it was still healing. He had a chin grown goatee, and deep brown, calculating eyes.

"They've survived this long," Bishop noted, watching a small child pass him by. "I think they've got what it takes to survive the path before them."

Mission looked curiously at her new companions, Knight and Bishop especially, who chatted casually as if they were returning home from work rather than a battlefield. _Are they for real or is this just some kinda LoCity trick to gain my confidence? I really wanna to believe that they're here to help, but I'm not gonna let my guard down anytime soon._

Returning to the Bek lair, the team was greeted by throngs of curious onlookers. Gadon Thek looked at the battered party with amazement as they carried in the swoop accelerator and laid it before him. Knight handed the device off to the eager team of engineers that swarmed them, rubbing his sore left arm as his red face returned to its usually color, Bishop doing so as well; the thing must have weighed a ton. Several Beks gathered around the retrieved treasure. Bishop grunted hoarsely at Gadon, seeking approval from the civvi.

"To be honest, I didn't think this raid would work, but we had to try," announced Gadon, stroking his slightly graying goatee. The ring in his eyebrow twinkled in the light, giving a mischievous look about him. The three surviving Beks were lauded as heroes as were Knight, Carth, Bishop and crew. Gadon gladly accepted Juril, Kala, and the other refugees, giving them a new home. Caught up in the occasion, even Zaalbar let out a gurgling whoop of excitement.

Gadon put his arm around Carth. "The race is in two days and there will be much to do, but for now, we feast!"

They ate and drank deep into the night and on until morning amid raucous music, Knight and Bishop gladly participated in the handful of drinking games that the Beks hosted, tying each other most of the time. Gadon had always believed in living well and in the here and now. As the night turned into dawn, the revelers lay about in Gadon's posh lounge.

Knight and Bishop half collapsed onto the plush, maroon carpet, the booze finally getting to them. "Ah," Knight grunted, "I am gonna have one hell of a hangover, Bishop grab me some water."

Bishop grabbed his canteen, took a swill, and tossed it to his commanding officer. "So, Onasi," Knight directed at Carth, well drunk but handling it very professionally, taking a long pull from the bottle. "What happened with Admiral Karath?"

The Chief-Com put down his drink. "That again? You seem determined to pry my secrets from me."

"I'd like to know."

Bishop let out a long belch, and pointed a shaking hand at the man. "The Lit-Com asked you a question Ch_—hic—_Chiefy. Answer the man!"

Carth sighed, but nodded his head, chuckling. "Okay, as I said, Karath was my mentor. We fought side by side throughout the Mandalorian Wars. At first, the wars were not going well. Most of our leaders were political hacks and the Mandalorians outfought us at every turn. There was even veiled talk of negotiating terms with the Mandies. Then, Revan and Malak arrived. As Jedi, they were given sizeable commands by the Republic. Revan's fleet saved our hides and turned the tide of the war."

Onasi took a long drink and then continued, "Karath became known for his bravery and command presence and over time, he and Malak became close and shared many ideas. Karath continually praised Revan as he got results. Together, Karath and Revan made bold strategy, which paid off. Their novel tactics kept the Mandies off balance and they seized the initiative. As you know, the Mandalorians capitulated after the Battle of Malachor and we thought our duty was over…thought that there would finally be peace."

"Revan and Malak disappeared soon after that with a large portion of the Navy. It was then that Karath approached me and questioned my loyalty to the Republic. I wasn't sure what he was driving at, but now it's clear. Just before Revan returned, he tried to recruit me. He said the Republic had shown its weakness during the war and that Revan would change that. He reminded me of the politics that got so many of our friends killed. I said he was mad and he became incensed. We never spoke again. Upon Revan's return, Karath's fleet attacked my…my homeworld, Telos…" Carth's voice cracked. He looked away.

Post-Traumatic Shock, Knight summed it up to, nodding in understanding, but remained silent. No words could make the pilot feel any different; make the pain go away.

With the strain evident on his face, he continued. "They had our defense codes. Telos was helpless. My wife…my son…both killed. Our fleet raced to save Telos, but it was too late. I returned to my city…held my wife as she died…. Saul had attacked Telos first; it was personal."

Knight's eyes had glanced over to Bishop, who at the time began to favor supporting the wall, and then fell over to the side. He hit the ground hard. Carth looked at the unconscious Raider, and then to the Lieutenant Commander with a raised brow.

"He'll be fine. Let'em sleep it off."

Carth grunted putting on a forced smile, "One day…I will kill Saul Karath."

"Don't hold things so close, Chief," Bishop belched drunken wisdom. "They have a way of biting you in the ass; literally, sometimes."

Knight chortled and waved a finger at Bishop from the Ship Captain to listen to him. "Yeah? Well, what've you got? You're a Spartan, I'm sure you have a few interesting war stories."

Knight was thrown by the sudden change of topic, once again aware that this was a painful conversation for Carth to continue. This was his defense and he was determined to hold it. He pushed the thought out of his mind.

"Alright," Knight gulped the rest of his drink, "I could tell you about my first rescue mission back in training. See, on Tharsis we go out and conduct training missions with the infantry, helps us get a taste of what real action's going to be like. Every pweeb class goes through a series of term missions that determine if their unit is ready to move on or be held back."

Carth nodded. "Harsh, but I can see where the sense of it came from, make the weakest link as strong as possible."

"For the term, our class," Knight continued, gesturing to Bishop and himself, "we were assigned an attack and defend mission. Drop into a hostile area, secure X-number of objective bases and hold for the required time while stealing away bases already held by the opposition. It's safe, mostly, stun rounds don't kill but they still feel like you gave head to a damn freight train."

Carth guffawed. "I bet."

"Our head Drill Instructor, Isaac Mojaav, then a short-colonel, called John and I into his office and told us he had a special case for us. An _actual _deployment, live fire rounds, real explosives, civilians and tangos; dire consequences for mistakes."

"Do anything wrong and you die."

Knight nodded with an exasperated sigh. "Yeah."

"What happened?"

"A Maritime Internal Security Services team had infiltrated a mining compound in the Vestus System that went dark approximately two days prior, I don't recall what it was that it mined _precisely _but it was a large enough operation that we could share a sizable amount of profit with the Republic. The main station hadn't responded to any communications attempts. Office of Security Intelligence lost contact with the team twelve hours after drop."

"Hold up," Carth cut in, "the Vestus System opposite of the Cancius in Republic space. If a team was sent in, wouldn't that be considered a raid on _us_? MISST units know what they're doing just as surely as any Raider platoon; shouldn't the Office have sent another team in?"

Knight closed one eye and touched a forefinger to his nose. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Onasi, but no. The operation was a sting; one team in, one team out, no reinforcements if things go to shit. OSI had a bad feeling about it, and my father was under a bit of pressure to assign a Vanguard to take the whole damn station out. But considering Mako platoon's rep, Shorty was thinking on giving us the mission."

"So, why send in a trainee team, sir?" Carth asked, "Why not let the professionals handle this?"

"Asked him the same thing, he said he didn't like it either, that a full Raider company is hard to cover, and they operate in large numbers and their experience makes them think that they're flawless," Knight shook his head. "I don't entirely agree with that but I don't entirely disagree, either. I've watch a lot of good men and women get themselves killed because of half-assed orders some hothead called to get things done the quick way rather than the _right _way. Professionally and during my dissertation. One would think that the people of the Union would be above that egocentric bullshit but I'm corrected on that line of thought more times than I am comfortable admitting."

Carth noddded, adding, "I hear ya. So, why did Mojaav have your team picked for the op and not another team?"

"Stubbornness and dedication, I think," Knight released a peel of not-quite-serious laughter. "We weren't the highest marked group in the camp, and I was more than a little certain nepotism played a part in it."

"Essentially, our job was to go in and check out what the hell had happened. It was fairly open-and-shut. Bishop and I had our Marines briefed and prepped within ten minutes and we headed out on my sister's new ship, the _The Owl of Feroc_. But what we found when we got ther—"

A Bek walked in and cut Knight off. "Hey, guys, Gadon says lights out, big day tomorrow," The Vulkar jogged off to tell the others. Knight and Carth grabbed Bishop, drapping each of his arms over their shoulders and they continued to their rooms.

"Okay, what happened next?" Carth said along the way.

"Ask me later," Knight said, yawning, "I'm wiped, I can hardly see straight."

"Yeah, I guess." Carth chuckled, bumping into the Spartan several times. "See you in the morning."

"Sleep tight, Onasi," was the Spartan's reply. Somehow, Carth knew it was in a friendly tone rather than an officer's.

**...**

The following day, Gadon approached Knight, Carth, and a severely hung-over Bishop. "The swoop accelerator has been installed and we are running some tests. I'd like to offer one of you the opportunity to ride it."

"One of us? Why, don't you have any riders?" asked Carth.

"In all honesty, our best riders were killed in the Vulkar raid. I will have other riders entered, but the accelerator is very dangerous. Should it explode, I will still have other riders who may come through and I won't lose anyone."

Knight grunted with a bit of disapproval. "So, you have all of your bases covered I see."

"You don't get to be a swoop gang leader without being able to make hard decisions, Commander."

"Fair enough," Knight thought for a moment, and nodded. "Okay, I'll be your rider."

"Sir? You sure about this?" Carth said, raising his brow. "You're pretty big to be a swoop rider, why don't I—"

"Onasi, while I appreciate the offer, you're on the verge of forty, biologically I am half your age. I have faster reflexes and a keener eye than you do; and Bishop's got all the driving hand of a drunken Trandosian."

An_ agitated _groan drove the Lieutenant Commander's point dead home.

Gadon nodded. "He's right; this is a young person's game. I was thirty-five when I had my accident and was at the end of my career anyway. I hate to say it Carth, but you're too old. And honestly, that guy doesn't look too—"

"Hello! I'm right _here_! I _can _hear you guys!" Bishop barked at the three men, a sharp hiss followed and he continued muttering rapid Spatri under his breath.

Carth frowned but nodded a reluctant approval. Gadon then took Knight to a crude simulator where he could get use to the controls. A hammerhead Ithorian walked him through the steps in his ponderous language. Many obstacles on the course would present dangers, but dynamic deflectors would protect the bike as long as he didn't hit them head on.

"That armor of yours won't be the best thing to wear the day of the race, Spartan," the alien blubbered, the thick scent of ale present on his breath.

"I'll remove some of it for the race, don't worry."

Hours later the announcement for the racers of the participating gangs arrived and sent the Beks into a scramble getting everything together. Knight dressed in a Bek outfit and ate a quick meal, trading his MAVERICK for a ceramic armored vest and knee guards, Kevlar gloves that hugged his hands and sleek leather boots that covered his feet and shins, nd likewise abandoning his rifle; favoring his utility belt, knife and side arm. His eyes were a little red, showing he had not slept well. Mission and Zaalbar hung around him, giving words of encouragement, Carth even wished him a bit of luck, an interesting occurrence. When the time came, Zaerdra and Gadon led him to the racer pit in the arena.

"Jack, wait up!" Bishop shouted, catching Jack before he left, holding a silvery metal staff in his hands. "Sir, before you go, take this, it's the Jedi's."

Knight examined it, feeling the texture, and then it dawned on him what it was. "A lightsaber? Bishop where di—"

"I grabbed it from the pod, figured the Vulkars could do without the knowledge that the woman they captured was a Jedi, yes?"

Knight nodded. "I'll see to it she gets it back."

"Damn right you will," Bishop nodded and hefted a lengthy sniper rifle on his shoulder. "I'll be covering you from the top of the raceway. I should be able to find a decent hide up there."

Knight's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, turning his head slightly to the side in worried suspicion. "What happened to the hangover?"

Bishop waved his hand, dismissing his friend's concern. "I'll be fine. You focus on not being turned to scrap, or I'll never hear the end of it."

A corner of Knight's mouth curled in at the remark. "Thanks for your concern, John."

Bishop clapped Knight's shoulder before he departed. "Anytime, bud."

Knight entered alone and observed the other racers getting ready. A Twi'lek woman in the Bek outfit pushed her bike into the starting position. "You're the new rider, I presume. I'm Doba," the woman said. "Those punks, Phrik and Redros will be riding for the Vulkars and Anglu will ride for the Corsairs."

She pointed to a Transdosian in a Vulkar outfit, indicating Redros, the reigning champion. The Transdosians, she remarked offhandedly, made up a significant portion of the Vulkar troops. Knight spotted an Aqualish tuning one of his speeders, and an Umbran doing the same.

Knight made small talk with Doba for a couple of minutes until he noticed a cage holding a human woman. A sense of recognition came over him….

"Bastila..." he said just under his breath, he neared the gate, but four Vulkars, heavily armed, guarded it. Knight slowly and widely approached the woman, trying to get her attention, but the Jedi hung by chains and appeared unconscious. She was dressed in revealing underwear and her auburn hair was carefully brushed to increase her attractiveness as a prize slave.

_Neural inhibitors, the Vulkars are taking precautions. Smart, but it won't keep them alive very long._

One of the Vulkars confronted Knight haughtily. "Move along, human. Do you want to join her?"

"Try and I break your neck," the Spartan retorted, he and the Vulkar traded agnry growls at each other before one of the event guards broke the two of them up and directed Knight back to the racing pit with a stern warning against antagonizing the other gangs again.

The race coordinator, a gray-skinned Bith, took down Knight's information. "It is a five-lap race. Don't worry sir, only ten percent of the racers die. Oh…it's your first race? Hmmm…Do you have a beneficiary?"

Knight frowned, but put on his racer helmet and goggles anyway. He mounted the bike and activated the controls; the instrument panel surged with power and the speeder hummed to life. He glanced quickly around at the other racers, who were also doing system checks. Suddenly, the loud speaker sounded.

"Ladies and gentlemen of all species, sentient races, and droids…We are proud to present the Three-Hundredth Annual Taris Swoop Bike Finals! Riders from all major factions have entries and this should be an exciting day! Last year's winner, Redros, is back to defend his title. Give it up for all of our riders!"

The reptilian Redros waved his arms at the roaring crowd. Knight looked into the masses and saw Carth's anxious face, watching him. He gave a little hand wave and saw Mission and Z wave back; Bishop had likely taken prone in some unseen alcove covering him, sneaky bastard that he is. The mercenary, Canderous, was also there with a gray-haired man he thought must be Davik Kang.

"John, you got eyes on the Mandalorian and the old man in the crowd?"

_"__Yeah. You familiar?"_

Knight shrugged. "I know his name's Canderous of the Ordo clan, that's about it. Who's the geezer he's with?"

Bishop's reply was heavy with disdain._"Davik Kang. Taris' resident crime lord."_

_"Figured," _Knight remarked._ "From what we've heard of him, I'd thought he would be taller."_

_"__Says the six-five Spartan Raider."_

_"__Fuck off."_

The race lights came on and shone red. As Knight's heart began to pound hard, the light went from red to amber to green. The roar of swoop engines became deafening and Jack rotated the accelerator forward. Hovering just a meter off of the ground, his bike shot forward.

"Off to an early lead is our champion, Redros, on the Schwim Two Thousand! What a bike that is!"

Knight rocketed past three bikers, just missing a jutting beam, pulling hard on the controls to avoid them, and pushed one forward, turning sharply for a power strip. As the bike flew over the strip, he hurtled forward and the engines began to glow. Knight wailed every curse that he knew as his Huff 1200A Swoop Bike reached top speed. A bug flew into the visor of his helmet and was crushed instantly; he grimaced as he hung onto the handlebars for dear life. Resolving to clear it off on the next lap.

"At the end of the first lap, Redros is still in the lead followed by Anglu and Doba Moonbeam! Phrik is close behind with Jack Knight pulling up past Qweefle and Haneb."

As he began the second lap, Knight began to get a feel for the bike and its performance. He could feel the rush of air past him and the saw that the entire track was a blur at 300 km/h. Seeing his engines entering the red zone, he shifted up and the bike picked up speed. Pulling up behind the Vulkar, Phrik, Knight shifted again to pass him. He looked back with a scowl and threw something at him. The object hit him in the helmet and bounced off to explode against the metal walls of the track.

Knight gave the Vulkar the finger. "_Stei holln gritisti!_" his voice lost in the passing wind. Phrik slowed to ram him, but as he did a thin white bolt plumed into the Vulkar's head, exploding out the back and taking much of his brain with it. Bishop had pulled off a headshot, one of the best he'd ever done. His bike hiccupped on an air pocket and went off, his nearly headless body still riding as it clipped a debris pile at 275 km/h. His stabilizer flew off and he tumbled into a curb.

Knight could literally hear Bishop after that shot, shouting "Boom! Headshot!" to himself as he cycled the optics.

"Holy blaster turrets! Phrik is out of the race folks… Looks like we'll be peeling him off the walls! Lap three is starting with Anglu and Redros neck and neck. What a race!"

Knight leaned forward, aligning his body with the bike to decrease drag. He shifted back up and moved in behind Doba. He could see Anglu and Redros dueling for position and the confrontation would soon turn violent.

As Anglu made his move, Redros struck him with a stun baton. Surprised, the Ithorian fell off of his bike backwards and skidded across the track. Knight took a quick look at Anglu, who was trying to get up. Uncontrolled, his bike flew into a wall, sending a shower of flame and debris over the track. Knight dodged one of the bike's engines and swerved out of the way, bits of tiny debris showered over him, dust and ash, nothing to worry over, but one of the bike's vertical fins scraped the wall sending up sparks.

"Gaah! That was close!" The announcer cried.

By the time he had regained control, Doba Moonbeam had closed with Redros.

"At the start of lap four we have Anglu Hammerhead down. But don't worry, he's okay folks! We finally peeled Phrik off of the wall, clearing the track. Look now, Doba is a close second. This is the best race in forty years!"

Knight arched his back, gritting his teeth he looked ahead to see Doba coming up on Redros' left. As the racers began a right turn, Doba flung a wire ahead of Redros, hoping to hook him. The wire wrapped around Redros' arm and she yanked him hard. He lost his balance and nearly fell, but recovered quickly. His bike leaned to the left and glanced up against the Bek woman. As the bikers slowed, Knight began to catch up. Doba yanked again but this time, but Redros was ready. He wrapped the wire around one of his power units and cut the line between it and his wrist. The Bek's tug merely slowed the Vulkar's bike.

The reptile sneered. "Goodbye, Moonbeam!" he laughed as he ejected the power unit from his bike. Doba's eyes grew large in surprise as the heavy unit fell back onto the track. As the wire grew taut, she flew backwards off of her bike over Knight's head.

"Oh shit!" He grunted, ducking under Doba's leg as she sailed by.

"By the moons of Yavin! Redros sends another one down. Only Knight stands between Redros and another win. The others are too far behind. How can this newcomer hope to challenge the champion? Now, the exciting final lap!"

Knight shot forward next to Redros, who looked at the bigger man with contempt. He swung his stun baton at him, but he leaned away. Knight swore at himself, and grabbed his knife, professionally deflecting the swings the Trando made. Two more blows, two deflections.

As they rounded a turn, the Vulkar swung at him again, striking him in the left arm. Jack winced as his arm went numb. Redros laughed as they turned again. Jack fell a bit behind, but then over torqued the engine. As the engine redlined, he rocketed past the reptile.

The Vulkar grabbed Jack by the belt as he moved past him. He turned and ordered his arm to yank him off, but the Vulkar's arm wouldn't respond. He yanked on his belt again, nearly pulling him from the saddle. He looked ahead and then back. A beam was coming up quickly. As Redros tore at the near unbreakable belt, Jack entered that fugue state. His focus was drawn to Redros' controls and his mind seemed to touch them. Instinctively, he pushed his own controls down while his mind pulled Redros up.

"Huh?" he blurted as his bike climbed. He looked up and saw the beam. "Gaaaaah!" he screamed as he yanked the bike upwards, holding on for dear life, the fingers of his hand broken from his grip on the thick material of Jack's belt. He dodged under the beam and accelerated forward. Redros barely missed the metal obstacle, but it was too late. Knight zoomed past the finish line in a blur.

"This is unbelievable! The novice has defeated the master! We have a new champion! Let's hear it for Jack Knight!"

Carth nearly fell out of his seat as he wrapped Mission up in a big bear hug. "I can't believe it!" A small sliver of hope penetrated his steel exterior and a huge smile broke across his face.

Jack powered down his bike as he landed in the race pit. Redros slid in soon after with a sneer. The triumphant Spartan stepped off of the bike and went to the official, stumbling from the whiplash of traveling at the unnatural speed.

_Not to self: Illegal street racing is __**not **__a viable future habit._

"You've won! A newcomer takes the Taris Championship," he shouted as Bek riders cheered. The official handed him a sack of credits and a tool kit as part of her prize.

"I need to get the woman promised by Brejik," urged Knight, spitting out a large wad of phlegm.

The official smiled. "Why, of course. Let's go over there."

They walked over to the cage where Bastila hung in a daze. Brejik stood there shouting at Redros in anger for losing. The official approached the Vulkars and spoke. "Brejik, please hand over the woman to our new champion."

The muscular man turned and scowled. He slicked back his brown hair, glancing at Jack with disdain and a racing fear. The huge Spartan stood two heads taller than him. He had the wildest set of black eyes he'd ever seen, and they were boring through him. "He cheated! He used an illegal prototype accelerator. I'm withdrawing the prize. I've decided to sell her on the open market. Her looks will fetch a nice price," replied Brejik in the haughtiest of voices.

The official reacted. "Brejik, you cannot do that! No one withdraws a prize once offered and Knight's bike was inspected and within the rules. You cannot violate our most sacred traditions!"

Brejik's hand went for his blaster pistol, and fired into the official's head twice. "Damn your traditions alien. Vulkars, to me! Kill them! I will run LoCity now!"

Knight's quick eyes scanned the field before pelting the sack of credits into Brejik's face and turned to see Redros and the four guards drawing weapons. Suddenly, the door to the cage flew outward, smashing a Vulkar. Bastila leaped out and seized the stunned Vulkar's sword. She made eye contact with Jack for a second before striking down another guard.

A white streak took off the hand of one Vulkar arming a grenade, Knight drew the pistol on his hip impossibly fast and point fired three heavy bolts into the Quara Aqualish. Redros aimed his pistol and fired, but his bolt bounced off Knight's shoulder plate, dissipating into ozone. Jack turned and brought the weapon up so the sights lined up before firing and struck Redros, and the two guards flanking his, in the chest. A plume of smoke erupted on the Trando's armor; he was stunned, but wasn't killed. Seeing him still standing, he fired one more shot into his body and a final to his head. The Transdosian grasped his face, staggered a step back, and then collapsed to the floor.

Knight twirled the gun around a moment before he dropped it into the holster on his hip.

The two remaining guards fired at Bastila, but for a moment her movement became so fast, she blurred as the blaster bolts flew past her. With two quick strikes, she tore the Vulkars open. Brejik stood alone as bystanders fled the race pit.

"How did you escape the cage, slave?" Brejik asked, somewhat disconcerted.

Bastila stared at him, tempered fury in her eyes before she calmed it to the eerie Jedi serenity. "I am not a slave, nor was I ever one," she snapped. "You won't be alive long enough for my answer to matter."

"I wasn't so bad, was I, Bastila?"

Bastila glared. "You are a slave trading, dirty, wretched beast traipsing about int the skin of a man, Brejik, so yes."

Knight slowly circled to his flank, knife in hand. Brejik looked between both the woman and the Spartan, twirling his own sword. He laughed with a false bravado. "Surrender to me now and I'll let you two live."

"Buddy, you really need to fire your strategic consultant," Knight remarked snidely.

Bastila surged forward and swung a mighty blow, but Brejik parried it with his vibrosword. Before he could riposte, Jack lunged with the point of him weapon forward, forcing him on the defensive again. As Brejik recovered his guard, the Lit-Com continued to circle, keeping the Vulkar off balance.

Brejik switched targets and attacked Knight with a flurry of wild, unfocused strikes. Calmly, he parried each one in turn and then cut across his cheek. As he felt the blood drip down his face, he raged.

"You're dead!" he screamed in a high-pitched voice. Before he could move, Bastila drove the tip of her sword through his back. The end shot out the front of his gut and he looked down at the bloody weapon. She twisted it sharply, Brejik jerked and yelped once. "Unusual twist of fate, I think you get the point," she said quietly as he crumpled to the ground. Bastila sank to one knee, out of breath.

Knight quickly came over to the shaken Jedi. He reached out a hand to help her up. "Bastila Shan. Lieutenant Commander Jack Knight, Department of Special Assault Warfare Tactics and Reconnaissance, I'm here to rescue you."

Bastila quivered momentarily and her steely eyes focused on Jack. For several seconds, she stared at the Commander as if there was some recognition; a flash of fear crossed her face. The Jedi then took a breath and then scowled.

She stood on her own, dusted herself off, and said: "Thank you for your help, Commander," Knight could tell that she didn't mean it. "But I can manage on my own.

"GEE-YAAAGGGHHHH!"

Knight seized Bastila's arm and spun about, taking the space she had occupied a moment ago and drew his pistol, pressing the muzzle into Brejik's screaming mouth and blowing his head apart as he rose a final time, the dagger in his hand aiming towards Bastila's back falling to the ground in a metallic caltter without a grip to hold it. The body continued forward, useless without the head to guide it.

Bastila stumbled and fell, uneasy at the motion of being held by the man, and she turned a dangerous expression on her face before sitting up. The headless body of Brejik, knife in hand, had been moving towards her. The sudden reality of his intent washed up on her harder than she expected, and her face paled noticably, but she hid her emotion quickly and merely glanced at the man, altogether seeming very ungrateful. Knight breathed and holstered his sidearm.

"You're welcome," Knight said pulling her to her feet again. "Come on, we need to get moving, every remaining Vulkar is gonna storm this place in a matter of minutes."

He chirped a sharp whistle, loud enough for it to escape the faint cries of people still fleeing the streets. "John," he said, touching the tiny ear piece he wore.

_"Copy loud__, sir, what can I do for you today?"_

"Get your gear and fall back to the base, we'll catch up to you momentarily."

_"__You got it, boss, packing now, see ya in five."_

Bastila gave him an incredulous look and removed her arm from the man's grasp. Touching him felt like touching sheer electricity to her senses, and she feared that he knew what he had been. "_We_," she said with emphasis, "are not going to do anything. Thank you, and good bye."

"You don't have much of a choice, Jedi; I'm giving you an order."

Bastila gave him a pointed glare, haughtily straightening her shoulders. "It is you who does not have much of a choice," she snapped. "I am a Captain, therefore clearly not under your authority."

"'Captain'? You're nearly six ranks below me," Knight said, pushing his broad shoulders forward. "We're burnt, the Sith know there is Spartan and Jedi presence on the planet. You've been relieved of command, until further notice _I _am _your _superior."

Bastila glared at him sourly. "Until I hear word of that from someone of a higher rank you," she snapped, "I will not abide by your words." With that, she turned and began turning over the slain Vulkars and rifling through their pockets.

"Looking for something?" Knight said, following her with his eyes. _Like a decent pair of clothes._

Bastila completely ignored him except for a brief pause. "Nothing that concerns you, Spartan," she said with an air of condescension, the addition of his race hinged on an insult.

"Everything concerns me at this point, Jedi," Knight added, before he reached for the cloth-wrapped object tucked into his belt. "I take you're looking for this?" Knight retrieved the metallic rod that served as the grip for Bastila's lightsaber and pitched to her. "My XO grabbed that for you," Knight said.

Bastila hid a red faced, embarrassed expression and caught the hilt of her lightsaber, immediately clipping it to her person. "Thank you," she said.

"We look after our own. On that note," Knight pulled a set of sweats out from his pack and tossed them to the woman. "Get dressed, we need to move."

"And you are of no use to me in general, Spartan," she retorted, stiffening, partially upset at the situation and her current outfit, and partially frustrated at losing her weapon.

Bastila Shan mentally thanked the man for the clothes, but she was certainly not about to let him know that out loud. She wouldn't want him to get his arrogance back. She dressed quickly and efficiently into the sweats and slipped her shoes back on before looking at the man. "You seem to still be under the delusion that this is a 'we' operation..." she trailed.

"I've spent the last few days trying to find you," Knight said, starting off. "I'm not your enemy here."

"Why were you looking for me?" She asked before tightening her brow.

"Carth Onasi said gave me a quick and ugly on you're 'ability'. Protocol dictates that I can't allow possible utilities to the war effort to be acquired by Sith forces," Knight informed. "I had to either affirm your death or get you back."

Bastila nodded. "Chief Commander Onasi would be correct," she said, not willing to clarify more on her Battle Meditation.

"Of course, I couldn't pass on the chance of riding to the aid of such an esteemed member of the Jedi Order," Knight commented, jokingly.

Bastila sighed. "Ignorant man," she said with a shake of her head before walking again. "We need to get moving," she said. "Surely a Spartan would know that much?"

Knight nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment."

_"You two are so perfect for each other." _Knight bellowed a laugh at Bishop's comment as he approached the hidden door, knocked three times, and whistled.

**...**

At the Bek hideout, Gadon was uncontrollable with joy. His spies reported that the Vulkars were coming apart now that Brejik was dead. He laughed a deep, hardy laugh as he gulped Taresian Ale.

Looking through the Vulkar loot, Mission examined a pair of gauntlets that Jack pulled from Brejik, along with a belt and armband.

"Pretty cool stuff," admired Mission, "I can't believe you won…You da man!"

Zaalbar chortled in glee. Bishop slapped Knight on the back heartily. "Once again, Jack, you kicked ass, I liked the duck after that bitch came flying at you, wish I could've seen the look on your face."

"I liked that nail you pulled at that Vulkar going 280."

"I'm a Raider, son," Bishop said, deepening his voice and talking in a drawl. "I _know_ how to pull off a headshot."

"Nice come back, Mister Hathcock." Knight took a seat at a nearby bench.

"Damn right. Hey, where's my drink?"

A familiar face came out of the crowd as glasses of ale were passed around. Knight looked up. "Doctor Forn! It's nice to see you, sir. I did manage to survive and rescued my…friend."

"Commander, you astound me. You've won both the dueling tournament and the swoop race. I am pleased you are well and not in need of my services," the gentle doctor said.

For once, Knight actually smiled. "Doctor, I also have a gift for you," Knight pulled the case containing the Rakghoul serum and gave them to the doctor. "Please take them."

Doctor Forn accepted the case and looked at the vials contained within. "Oh my…I…I don't know what to say."

"You've said enough, sir. Please put it to good use," he motioned to a group of children playing among the adults. "For their sake."

Off to the side, Bastila observed the exchange. Her cheeks reddened slightly as an old thought filled her mind. Bishop approached her, swirling a drink of uncertain origins. "So, how was Jack's performance as a new man, in your eyes?"

"I'm impressed. He actually acts like I was told he did." Bastila looked at the man with a wary expression. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wanted to know what your take on it was," Bishop chuckled, sipping his drink, failing to keep a straight face. "I know how much you admire him."

Bastila turned red and sputtered before looking violently furious. "Hardly," she snapped at him, glaring menacingly. "My interest in him is purely professional."

"Uh-huh. So what's your take, as a 'professional'?"

Bastila's cheeks reddened slightly as an unpleasant memory filled her mind. "He has some benevolence, but he will have to learn humility. I will strive to grind it into him."

Bishop snorted in surprise. "Yeah, kid," he said walking away from her. "Good luck with that. Not much you can 'grind' into a Knight of the Frontier that he hasn't already learned."

Carth had managed to catch back up with Knight as he traded jokes a few of the Beks at a booth in the south end bar of the base. He finally managed to get him alone enough to talk to him. "Hell of a race there, sir," the Chief Com said. "Bishop's one helluva shot."

"Been that way since boot, Carth," Knight said. "That reminds me, I didn't finish that little story of ours last night, did I?"

Carth thought for a second, and then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Last bit I remember you were going to stop smugglers in the Vestus Nebula, right?"

"Right," Jack scratched the back of his head for a moment. "Alright, like I said…"

* * *

_**A/N:** Well, this marks beginning of the end of this freaking arc. And there was much rejoicing. I think I should as'plain the title, as it's a bit of an in joke among classic car enthusiasts. "The Thirteen Twenty" is a reference to the length of performance track pioneered by __Prohibition era bootleggers vying for a shot with the speakeasies _as well as _Chrysler Autos in the 60s to measure the performance of their muscle cars (i.e. Pontiac GTO, Plymouth Baracuda, and the Dodge Charger) _from an idle stop at the starting line to the finish line a quarter mile away - or 402 meters, rounding down - equal out to **one-thousand-three-hundred-twenty (1320)** feet. There, you learned something today.


	9. Chapter VII: Best Laid Plans

**_A/N: Nothing too special to report on this end, aside from I'm implementing a new chapter style to the like of the recent Call of Duty mission openings in anticipation for Black Ops. Oh, and due to the fact my laptop had a hardware malfunction and part two of my flashback chapter was destroyed with it, I'm not going to piss and moan about it for another year like last time and just continue with the story as is until I can rectify the situation, or I might just delete the whole thing and leave it all to imagination. I don't know._**

**_Also, I appologize for any "her"s or "she"s that I use in context with Knight. I had just finished a biography essay on Marion Daivies for my literary arts class and somehow got the image of Knight as a chick into my head as I was typing this out. Many moments of My Brain Is Full Of Fuck followed.  
_**

**_That is all._**

**_- Leake_**

_"Weep not, child, our deaths. For ours are the lives must be given in trade of yours."  
_- Translation of the inscription on the base of the memorial statue on Thermopylae XVII, built by order of Manalore the Preserver, circa 3951 BBY

* * *

**"Best Laid Plans..."**  
**0082:56:10 (Mission Clock)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pltn., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Lower City, Taris**

The massive celebration continued into the hours of the night at the Bek hideout. In the power vacuum left by Brejik's demise, LoCity was seeing a return to some semblance of order and peace. As the revelers chanted and sang, Zaalbar drank enormous amounts of Ale, while Mission told and retold the tale. Sampling a vintage beverage, Carth sat with Juril and Kala, who seemed to be taking a fancy for each other. Juril toasted the off worlders. "You've given me a new start. For that, I thank you," he said. Knight and Bishop were at a pair of joined end tables arm wrestling each other to the cries of the Beks.

Off in the corner of the luxurious room, Bastila sat by herself, sullen. She watched the new couple thank the soldiers and she snorted in disgust. Why should _they _get all of the thanks? Bastila had changed and put on a tattered merchant robe, which had been scrounged for her. The Jedi fidgeted, trying to make herself more presentable despite her humiliation. Her face burned with shame and, without a word, she rose and went to their quarters. She had no desire to be around people at the moment. Knight noticed her departrue, discracting him for the moment Bishop needed to pin his arm; much to the disappointment of the cheering Beks.

He motioned to his friend and Carth before the three of the excused themselves from the festival to go after her. The p[adawan sensed them following and picked up her pace. Inside the stateroom, Bastila knelt down and tried to focus her thoughts. Intrusive images of her captivity danced in her mind, taunting her.

_How am I to face the Jedi Council?__No, no. I must regain control… There is no emotion..._

Her momentary respite was interrupted by the entry of the Republic and Spartan soldiers. She led out an audible sigh, but rose and turned to face them. She straightened her clothing and did her best to appear in control. Perhaps it was best to face this issue now. "I'm glad you're here. So, what is the plan to depart Taris?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay even.

Bishop paused, observing her. "Well, ma'am, we didn't have one yet. We came to see if you were okay."

Despite the soldier's obvious concern, Bastila's gut tightened. She could barely control the growing rage in her heart and she lashed out. "You don't have a plan? _What_ have you been doing this past week?" demanded the Jedi. The look on her face was one of pure disdain, her eyes bright with inner fire.

Knight's brow tightened deeply, unceremoniously taken aback by the tirade. Sucking in a short breath, he replies with no small amount of disapproval. "As I said before, Jedi, our entire focus was on finding you. I'm sorry if we were unable to secure transport. But you will remember who is in command of this mission now, and how to respect your commanding officer."

Carth saw what was happening and tried to intervene but Bishop, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head, cut him off. Bastila knew he resented the fact that the Jedi Council had taken over his ship and placed him under her command. She knew he resented the fact that she had been given the rank of Fleet Captain without actually earning it. Although her Battle Meditation power had allowed the Republic to stem the tide of the Sith onslaught and regain the initiative in many sectors, she was still a young woman and had never commanded a ship or led soldiers before. Deep down, she knew her lack of experience was showing and it was coming to the boiling point. It made her despise the seasoned fighting men even more.

Bastila pointed an accusing finger at Knight and her lips curled into a snarl. The flood gates had been open and the Jedi's emotions came gushing forth like a torrent of water. "You _foolish _little man, going around trying to be a hero, winning tournaments and playing at being some savior. You've no doubt drawn some Sith attention—"

"If you have any idea how we operate, Padawan," the addition of her rank caused a deep snarl on the young woman's features, "you'd surely realize that if the Sith had any kind of thought that there were any number of Raider operatives planetside, there'd be a full battalion of Optur Forwyn scouring around this pathetic little world like Blowfly maggots on a corpse."

Carth couldn't hold back any longer and he took a long step forward. Jedi or no, she was going to get a piece of his mind. "Captain, Commander, good leaders do not insult openly insult troops or mistreat them. Especially when the mission has been accomplished under such dire circumstances. Ma'am, he the Commander _risked_ his life and the secrecy of our position numerous times on your behalf," he said, pointing to Knight. "Plus, it's not about who's in charge. We have to work _together _to escape the Sith. Now, rather than bicker, we should find a way off of Taris," he added with a sense of finality. Carth looked over to see Bishop finishing his drink.

The Jedi softened with a sigh. She balled her fists a couple of times and inhaled deeply, letting the rage pass. She knew she was out of line. Why was she made to lead this mad quest? Surely, a Jedi Master would have served better. No, it was her plan. She wanted to prove herself. She was hell bent for glory and determined to get out from under Revan's shadow. Bastila looked away, regretful. "Yes, I'm sorry. My emotions got out of control for a moment. I see I still have much to learn as a Jedi." She bowed her head. "I apologize. I know you went through great dangers to find me and I have to give you both credit — the two of you alone found me on a planet full of Sith and violent gangs, starting with little more than the clothes on your backs. You are very resourceful. And I acknowledge your step into command."

_At least now I have some compass to follow. _She didn't add.

Knight sighed, lines of stress taht loomed on the corners of his mouth eased away from his features. "Thank you, ma'am," he smiled. "Good to get the blood cooled before we begin...speaking of which," Knight shifted his weight around, checking the suroundings to ensure there were no undesirables present to overhear his next words. "I wanted to tell you about some...dreams I have had about you; fighting some Dark Jedi on the bridge of a ship."

Bastila took a step back, surprised and concerned at these words. Her stomach knotted and a cold prickly shot through her system. Could he be having visions powered by the Force? Was that even possible? Idiot question, she realized, of course it was possible. But there was no way that should have even be. She was assured by the Jedi Council. "Ummm…have you had any other unusual visions or experiences?"

"Yes, I found that during a fight, I was able to see things in a dilated time lapse, hell, I even moved something with my mind."

"And you _jostered_ a _fekking_ Rancor," Bishop added. That's a tad on the important side, too."

The Jedi inhaled slowly. She needed to pick her words carefully. "Well," she said, forcing a smile, "many non-Jedi are Force sensitive. The Force is something that flows within all of us and some are better attuned to it than others."

Carth chuckled. "Take me for example, most bricks are more Force sensitive than I."

Knight released a a low and ironic laugh at this and then looked back at Bastila. A hopeful look came into her eyes. "And it flows through your race the strongest of all, Commander," Bastila shifted her weight onto on of her legs. "However, its strength is balanced in it's incredible rarity. Strange that it took so long for your — how does your kind put it — 'adeptness' to develop."

The Commander donned an expression of extreme surprise. "Do you mean I have some connection with the Force?"

"That is possible," Bastila said cautiously. "Once we leave here, we will return to my masters and they will…determine what to do. If you were younger, you _might _have been accepted for training, but as it is, you should be happy with a career in your Marines." Bastila continued her fake smile and then turned away, letting everyone know that the conversation was at an end. "I will retire for the evening. My time with the Vulkars was…unpleasant and I must meditate."

As the Jedi left, she thought, _The Force awakes in him. I thought the masters ensured that would not happen. I must keep him close. I can't let history repeat itself._

Her thoughts hung in her mind while she readied herself for at least a few hours of sleep, the most she could ask for at this point, she sighed. She began playing with the ring on her finger. Not the one her father gave her, but the one she had come across after she had raided Revan's flagship; the one the Dark Lord had dropped as he was slain. She inspected the bizarre text carved into the gold ring; beautifully woven with delicate care into some kind of knot, with dull, silver-like metallic text. It was some form of Spatri, she knew that from the gentle arcs that surrounded the letters, but an ancient form of it. The only words she could make out were _oscurrit_ and _illumirri_, darkness and light. It had puzzled not only herself but her masters and the Vanguards that lived on the the Dantooine academy, neither could decipher the script. She studied the shining metal and tried to solve whatever mysteries the tiny piece of jewelry held domrante until sleep overcame her, deep and dreamless.

* * *

The next morning, a Bek handed Knight a message, showing it to the rest of his crew. "It's from that merc, Canderous Ordo. He wishes to meet with me," Knight sleepily read and summarized the note, sipping a cup of steaming caf.

Carth smirked. "What does he want, a date?" he asked sarcastically. Bishop snorted in his bunting state.

Still too buzzed to register the joke, Knight simply shook his head. "No, he is offering a business proposal. He says he has something useful to us. What do we have to lose by talking to him?"

Bastila nodded her head reluctantly. "We _must _find a way off of Taris or the Republic is likely to fall. I don't know if we can trust a mercenary, but he may be of some assistance."

Knight turned to Mission. "What do you know about Ordo?"

"He's worked for Davik for about a year and a half. He collects payments and is Davik's chief enforcer," the young girl said wiotout a moment's pause for thought, taking every word off the top of her head. "I think he's one of those Mandalorians."

Carth grimaced as an unpleasant memory shot into his mind. "Mandalorian? That's great. We'll meet him, but I'm keeping my trigger finger limber," he said as he put his hand on the butt of his pistol.

"What's so uncomfortable about _Mando'rahn_ that isn't with Spartans?" Bishop asked with a yawn. "Either way you split the end, we're just as fast on the draw as they are."

Carth turned on the Colonial Marine. "Oh, really? Did you start a galaxy-wide campaign to conquer every known world in your path?"

"No, but we met them on their our fronts, too, and we don't regard them with any more malice and spite than before," Bishop elbowed Knight and added with a gleeful tone, "You remember those days, don't you, Jackie-boy?"

"I seem to recall being slightly displeased when a Verpine round blew out my knee and got my ass stuck in a medical ward for eighteen months," Knight said flatly as he drank with no small amount of venom. Mission snorted a laugh. "And what have I told you baout calling me that?"

"Four-hundred-million casualties and yet you openly barter with their traders," Bastila shook her head. "But I suppose you have your reasons to not dislike them."

"I have my reasons _to _dislike them," Carth hissed and finished his drink and meal, he stood up and threw his hand rag onto the empty plate. "I'll be waiting out in the garage."

Something dark rumbled deep down in his soul. He hated Mandalorians with all of his heart. Every fiber of his being screamed in suspicion. He was going to keep an eye on everything that happened from here on in and would blast Ordo at the first sign of trouble.

They journeyed to Javyar's Cantina and looked around for Canderous. The bouncer walked briskly past Knight and discreetly handed him a note. Following the instructions, they went to a back room and opened the door. Canderous was seated at a booth wearing a leather jerkin over his thick torso. Without expression, he looked up and waved them over. He saw Carth's obvious suspicion and placed both his hands on the table. Knight could see that they were rather muscular, weathered by age and war.

"I'm alone and this room is surveillance free," he said, trying to set them at ease. Knight could see now that Canderous was a giant of a man, tall and broad shouldered. His square jaw and steel gaze would intimidate almost any foe and felt more than slightly intimidated at his presence. He was a man, who lived for combat. A trait they both shared, more or less.

Bishop quickly scanned the room to confirm the Mandalorian's words, nodding to Knight when he was satisfied of his truth. Carth took a look beneath the table and saw no hidden weapons. He then sat across from Canderous and locked him in a glare.

"What do you want, Mandalorian?"

Canderous chuckled and returned the hostile stare. "I was here to meet with the _Spart'ade_. I don't recall you being on the invitation list."

Knight sat next to Carth as Bastila, Bishop and Mission stood guard next to the door. This whole thing could go south at any second.

_Especially with two very powerful bulls and a grizzly antagonizing each other. _Bishop thought, carefully unbuttoning the snap of his sidearm's holster while mentally debating who was which.

"I'm here. Now what us it you want, Master Ordo," Knight began, emphasizing the honorific before the Mandolorian's family name to press his notice of the other man's age.

He locked the Spartan's in eye contact as intense as any either of the two had experienced before. Both reading each other carefully. "Call me Canderous. I'm going out on a limb here as I'm acting alone. I want off of this planet and, based on what I've learned, I suspect you do as well. The Sith quarantine keeps any ship without the proper transponder code confined to the planet. Anyone trying to break out will be destroyed by the automated defenses."

Carth groused and continued to eye the mercenary with suspicion. "I smell a trap here. You can't trust a Mandalorian!" He said quietly.

Knight held up an fist, silencing the man next to him. Bishop's hand moved to the grip of the pistol on his hip.

"I wasn't talking to _you...__ori'dinii_," Canderous said with a sneer. His voice was deep and gravelly, matching his rough exterior. Carth's face twisted into a snarl, raisng a fist and opening his mouth.

Knight's eyes slid to the man next to him, commanding him to stand down. Reluctantly, he complied. Carth's paranoia was getting out of hand. "Let's all calm down. I want to hear what Canderous has to say."

The mercenary gave him a curt smile and then continued, "In the Sith base at UpSector Fifteen, the Governor maintains the transponder codes. If I give you the means to enter the base, I'd like you to get the codes. When that is done, I have a means of transport off of the planet."

"Why are you doing this?" asked Carth, calmer now. "Don't you work for Davik Kang?"

Canderous looked away for a second, his confidence wavering for a tiny moment. Knight caught the lapse and knew there was something deeper to this mercenary. Ordo grunted and sucked his teeth. "My work for Davik has been…unrewarding and unworthy of my skill. All my life I trained for and fought in wars for the glory of my clan and now I break fingers for protection money and shake down drug users. If Davik and the Exchange wish to hunt me down afterwards, let them. I will be ready for the fight."

Knight nodded. There was something familiar about his manner…his sense of honor. Always the ones for the fight, he recalled. Though the memory was vague, he had fought with and against a number of Mandalorians in his career. Though he didn't openly acknowledge it, he had a respect for the warrior people. "Why don't you just take the codes from the Sith by yourself?" He asked.

He gave a sly smile. "I knew you would ask that. Davik would suspect my treachery if I were gone for too long on my own business. If you are successful, I will also need time to set up the acquisition of the ship. I don't wish to play my hand to Davik, not just yet. Deception is part of strategy."

"As proclaimed by Sun Tzu," Knight replied with a wry grin o his own. "Why us?"

"Another question I've anticipated. I've seen you fight and race. You carry on your people's heavy tradition of skill and determination, and do them proud. You get results, Spartan, and that is what I need. You also seem to have built a reputation for…keeping your word."

Knight looked at Carth with a questioning brow, and then over to Bastila. The Jedi nodded.

"I do not sense any deception in him."

"Then I guess we have a deal, Canderous."

_"Thold'ehv haram saal'rok vy'caree, mer Spart'ahn."_ The Mandolorian stated, standing and extending his hand.

_"Aye, sel'raam techrag klath, Mando'rahn." _Knight grasped his hand and shook firmly three times, completeing their oath and noting at the man's fluency in Spatri that lacked the traditional Mandolorian accent.

_May the Overlord favor our cause, Spartan brother._

_Yes, and mercy be to those that oppose us, brother Mandolorian._

Bishop let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Wonderful! It seems we have found a new partner."

Canderous grinned. "A partnership. I like the sound of that. When you leave, go out the back exit of the cantina and go to Janice Nall's droid shop in UpCity. Tell her you are there to pick up the droid for Canderous. The droid has the proper codes to enter the Sith base. It will also be extremely useful in hacking the Sith security systems. When you return, a trusted associate of mine will bring you to meet me. Any questions?"

Carth raised an arm with a single finger exstended. "This droid shop have a name?"

* * *

_Janice Nall, Droid Maker Extraordinaire _read the sign above the shop, as blunt and basic as Knight could think of as he led the group in the direction Canderous had directed and made their way through rush-hour traffic. Carth seemed upset the entire way and finally said, "I fought the Mandalorians for five years and they are as violent and brutal as they come. They attacked defenseless planets, killing innocents."

"We're no saints either, Carth," Bishop retorted, referring to himself and Knight. "Trained to kill anything and everything that presents itself a threat? Sounds rather bloodthirsty to me."

Bastila nodded. "I agree with Bishop, if we're going to point any kind of fingers, we should be aiming them at ourselves before others."

Carth sighed in resignation and nodded. He obviously didn't like it, but wasn't going to protest any further. "Very well, we'll do it this way for now. Who's going to go in?"

Knight entered the establishment and approached a Twi'lek woman behind a counter. "Canderous sent us for the droid."

The young woman began to reply immediately. "I was wondering when he was going to pick this up. He's a great maintenance droid; T3-M4 he's called."

A small, blocky droid on wheels with a cylindrical 'head' rolled forward. Various lights flashed on and off as it looked at the group.

Bishop regarded the little machine with indifference. "'Tee-three', is it?"

"Bee booboo beep," answered the droid.

Mission examined his circuitry and programming carefully and gave a thumbs up. "If I had one of these guys, I'd rule LoCity," she said as she closed his circuitry panel.

Knight looked over at Carth and Bastila. "Are you ready?"

The Jedi shrugged. "I suppose it's now or never."

Returning to the apartment hide-out, the team sat for a while and formulated a battle plan using maps of the facility provided by Canderous. They would use T3-M4 to access any doors or secure areas. The little droid had already been in the area when it was the Headquarters for the Taris Republican Militia. Fortunately, in their single-minded desire to capture Bastila, the Sith violated OPSEC and failed to change many of the access codes to the base. Getting in would be easy. Getting the transponder codes and getting out would be a different matter.

"Once inside, we're going to need Tee-Three to shut down all communications from the base," Knight went on, "We don't want Sith reinforcements showing up. Based on what Marl told me, there are thirty soldiers in the base with about a dozen droids."

Carth nodded. "I thought about inviting Gadon, but we can't risk it at this point. We have to keep it 'need to know'."

Mission frowned, obviously confused. "What's all that mean?"

"In order for us to keep our raid secret from the Sith, we can't tell too many people or someone's likely to make a mistake and talk about it," explained Bishop, sounding up a thirty-month lesson in basic Intelligence in a quarter breath.

"Oh!" The young girl drew out.

The team adjourned, reasonably satisfied with the plan and began selecting the equipment for the raid. One of the tools that Knight had won in the race was a security scrambler made by Miradyne Corp. "This should jam the Sith cameras leading to the base," he stated, hooking the device into his belt, "another basic lesson of Intelligence, blind the enemy."

Early the next morning, they made their approach and activated the scrambler. No one in UpCity had dared to challenge the Sith domination and the troopers here had grown complacent. It was considered a cushy posting after the horrors of the Undercity. The few guards that were posted outside were quietly eliminated by Knight and Bishop in a matter of seconds, and well-timed trigger squeezes.

Mission turned on her stealth field generator and crept up to the main door of the Sith base with T3. The bright blue emblem of the Sith shown in the darkness over the door. The Twi'lek saw a sentry droid standing watch at the entrance, but it made no move when they approached. T3 emitted a known security code and the sentry emitted an acceptance reply. Mission's generator had masked light in the IR and UV spectrum as well as sound and the sentry was blind to her movements.

T3 rolled up to the sentry and suddenly punched a spike through its metal hide, deep into its circuitry. Before the sentry could react, it was shut down, sparks popping from its joints. Mission waved the all-clear signal and the team rushed forward. "Remember Z, no shouting this time," Mission reminded the Wookiee softly.

They examined the door for any traps or devices and then T3 pushed his spike into an access port next to the door. It shot open with a hiss, revealing a long, metal corridor. Knight swept the area with the scrambler and they moved through to the next door.

As that portal opened, a Twi'lek woman bolted up from a sleep. Knight and bishop entered with Carth and he smiled at the receptionist. "Hi, we're a search team back from patrol. Don't mind us."

"Can I see your papers?"

"Sure…got them right here," Knight said, giving her the forged documents. A sense of nervousness grew in his gut. _I hope she buys it. Ordo said it would be good._

"Wait, this is old… The access papers change every three days," the receptionist said, now suspicious. Her eyes bore into them like lasers.

Bastila stepped in. She twirled her hand and currents of the Force swirled around her. "These papers are current," she said serenely in an ethereal tone. "Tell me, do you even like the Sith?"

The woman's face went blank as Bastila's power wrapped around her brain. "Yes, these papers are current," she said in a robotically monotonous tone. "The Sith have made my life hell since they ousted the militia. I think I'll just leave here and never come back." The woman then stood and walked out the front door.

Carth sighed in relief, impressed with Bastila's power. "Good job, Captain Shan. Tee Three, seal the door."

The droid shut the entryway and locked it with a high-level encryption code. Just then, a side door opened and a drowsy guard emerged. Seeing them, his eyes opened wide. "Hey, who are you?" Just as he drew his pistol, Mission quickly wrapped her garrote around his neck and pulled tight. The guard gasped and tried to struggle, however Zaalbar struck him on the top of the head and he fell with a crash. Knight and Bishop moved him to a supply closet nearby and locked him in.

The team rushed into the guardroom and quickly snuffed out the three dozing guards in there. Carth busied himself with fitting into a suit of Sith armor while the little droid sliced into one of the guard's data devices and flashed some lights.

"Beetle boop!"

"Show me," Knight ordered. A hologram was projected from the small droid's ocular lens, two colored dots indicated an armory and a security barracks. "Okay, let's take out security"

Carth led the way down a long hallway to a security lock door. The solid metal portal was heavily armored and electronically protected. Knight took a knee and stood guard with his rifle pointed ahead of them while Mission crept further down the hall. "Okay, Tee Three, get us in," whispered Aerin.

A long metal probe rose up from T3's head and entered a security port. The probe rotated several times as data transfer sounds buzzed and whistled. T3's lens flashed and withdrew the probe. "Deeedle dee," he said, announcing his success and Knight sighed. He felt the tension mounting and knew that each step could lead them to disaster. The security door shot open from the center, splitting apart.

Knight saw four Sith Shock Troopers standing around a series of consoles as a captain directed them just before he managed to duck behind the other wall. "What's wrong with the reception cameras? Get them back, man." The captain, dressed in a gray uniform, looked up upon hearing the door. He saw T3 wheel in and a look of irritation came over him. "You there…where did that droid come from? You're from reception, right?"

Carth nodded. "Yes, sir. The security system is down. This damn rustbucket of a planet…everything is breaking down," he said, simulating a Sith accent.

The captain smirked. "Damn right it is, sergeant. I'll be glad to get off of this death trap—" Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw two large, heavily armed figured step into the room.

Knight took aim at a Shock Trooper with a readied weapon and fired a few rounds into him. The trooper's armor stopped the rounds, but the mere force of the impact hurled him backwards and into a plasma field, disintegrating him. Chaos gripped the room and the Sith reached for their weapons as Mission and Zalbar appeared behind them, firing their weapons. "Die already!" she called.

With nearly inhuman speed and reflex, Knight ducked under the fire of a scatter-shot blaster, slammed the stock of his Dragon into the trooper, and fired a salvo of rounds into his head before kicking him away. Bastila looked at the Spartan with seemingly horrified surprise as yellow light erupted from both ends of her lightsaber. As the elegant weapon hummed, she spun it around her body and thrust one end into another trooper's chest, searing the metal breastplate.

Before anyone else could react, the captain slapped the alarm button. Shrieks sounded throughout the room and down the hall. Carth winced, knowing the element of surprise was lost. They had to act quickly now. Bishop pointed at T3 as adrenaline rushed into his blood. "Seal the door!" he yelled as he gunned down the captain with a burst to his chest.

Mission looked a little shaken. She usually avoided direct confrontations and the thought of becoming trapped in a Sith base was surely unpleasant. Carth put his hands on her shoulders gently. "Mission, we need you now. You have to get us inside the computer. Use Tee-Three if you have to."

The blue-skinned girl nodded. She dug deep and summoned her courage. "I…I can do it, geezer," she joked nervously. She inserted her security slicer and her hands flew over the keypad. She scanned several menus as perspiration formed on her face. Suddenly, the sound of shouting and a laser drill began outside of the door.

"Beeeeeebooop!" squealed T3, keeping the door shut with great electronic effort.

Knight felt sweat trickle down her back and she directed Z to take cover while Carth and Bishop set mines facing out the door. "C'mon Mission, you can do it," he said reassuringly.

The girl grinned. "I'm in…." Her teenaged bravado returned in force. "Okay, check this out people…Watch the master."

She accessed the hall cameras and they showed Sith troops gathered at the door, using a laser drill to get through. Suddenly, four battle droids rolled down the hall and aimed weapons at the Sith. The Sith officer yelled something at the droids, but they opened fire. In the first volley of automatic blaster fire, the Sith officer was raked by hits and the laser drill exploded, throwing Sith into the air.

"That's gotta suck," chuckled Mission. Knight felt a smile spread across his face.

Sith soldiers fled down the hall and the droids rolled in pursuit. Mission switched cameras again and showed Sith troopers advancing down a hall in their direction. She punched in a few more codes and water began pouring down on their heads. She sealed the doors on either side and then turned off the camera. "Blup blup blup," she said mockingly.

Bastila nodded in approval. "You've done well young lady," she said. Then she added to the Twi'lek girl, "I need you to stay here and keep any reinforcements from attacking us. I'll take Carth with me to find the codes."

"I'm coming as well," Knight said, Bastila nodded. "Bishop, stay here and keep her ass safe."

Bishop gave a two-finger salute. "You got it, sir."

T3 opened the door and the three rushed out and down the hall. When they reached a door, Mission called them on the COM. "Heads up, Jackie-boy, you've got five bad guys on the far side of the door in a room."

"Roger and thanks, out," the Commander replied as he took a position on the side of the door with weapon held at the ready. Carth also stood away, using some cover. Boldly, Bastila remained in the center of the hallway with her double-bladed lightsaber shimmering brightly.

The door shot open and a Sith officer yelled, "The Republic Jedi! Get her!"

The Sith troops rushed forward past a bewildered Knight and into Carth's blaster fire. One Sith was knocked on his back by a bolt at the same time Bastila deflected blaster shots from the Sith. Leaning back into a defensive Soresu stance, her fluid moves intercepted the energy with the blades of her weapon, sending some of them back to the Sith.

"Gaaah!" one Sith cried as his own bolt hammered back into him, splattering into deadly sparks.

In a flash, Knight came from behind the remaining Sith and clove one from shoulder to belly with a single stroke. She raised her sword again and the last Sith surrendered, throwing down his own vibrosword and kneeling. Bastila calmly walked up to him and said, "You will not remember us."

His jaw fell open and his eyes focused on her as if he were in a trance. "I will not remember you."

Bastila nodded. "It is time to sleep now."

"It's time for sleep now." As the Sith lay down and began to snore, Bastila led the team forward, Knight and Carth checking the bodies and swapping clips. Time was of the essence; Mission and T3 could not jam distress calls forever.

"Another two patrols, heading your way," warned Mission. The door behind them hissed closed suddenly and locked. "Wai...hey're sp…g…Watc…They a…"

"Shit!" Bishop's cough in the static. "...ight, the...OpF...get...out..."

Static then filled the COM; the Sith had jamming of their own. Knight looked up with a hint of worry and his throat tightened. "They're triangulating in on our COM. I'm shutting it down. Damn, where are they?"

The door burst open and a squad moved in, deploying for combat. Reacting quickly, Carth gunned one down at the threshold, but another one stepped over the fallen trooper. Neither of them looked anything like the Sith from before; their armor was a dirty reddish color, highly contrasting the light grey of their skin, with the print of a black fist clutching a flaming skull on their chest armor, the insignia of the ; their weapons, too, looked more wicked and sinister compared the industrial uniformity of the Sith's. Knight's eyes went wide with terror.

"Aughrast!" He bellowed as he dove into cover. An explosion sounded behind him and his ears rang from the blast. Despite a bit of a daze, he leveled his weapon and shot an Aghrast as he rushed at their line and he collapsed in a heap a meter away. Nearby, Bastila staggered from the explosion of the grenade and braced against the wall. Seizing the initiative, three Aghrast moved to surround her. Carth was nowhere to be seen.

Knight hurriedly double tapped another Aghrast as he struggled to his feet. Two holes appeared on the soldier's chest as he stumbled backward, three more sent him to the ground dead. In the crazed melee, nine shots deflected off of his energy shield and it sparked as it overloaded and vanished before he ducked behind cover again, moving sideways toward Bastila, firing into another Aghrast. "Carth!" He yelled, "Carth, you bitchy bastard, where the hell are you!"

No response. A second door opened and more Aghrast charged in. _We're going to be overwhelmed. We can't hold this many._

Bastila battled the three soldiers, spinning and twirling her lightsaber, trying to hold off the weight of numbers. As she swung the deadly weapon across two troopers, sparks flew into the air as they screamed. The third one thrust the point of his sword into her thigh before he was cut in half by her back stroke.

The Jedi staggered and then fell to one knee as blood soaked her pants. She struggled to regain her footing and saw ten troopers rush at her. She leaned back to take a defensive stance, but slipped on her own blood. Bastila grit her teeth and prepared for the worst. A suuden grenade going off in their midst suppressed their defeat. As bodies and armor flew among shrapnel and blast as a bloodied and bruised Carth collapsed back to the ground.

Seeing the stunned troopers, Knight took the initiative and rushed to attack them, firing into the stunned bodies of the rival special forces operators before swapping to his sidearm and knife. With a powerful diagonal jerk of his arm, he clove one across the chest, slicing through his crimson breastplate before he could move. The blade bit deep into flesh and bone and came to a stop in a rib. As he yanked to remove the blade, a broken jawed Aghrast bashed him in the shoulder with a mace, crushing armor. Knight cried out as his arm fell limp at her side.

From a kneeling position, Bastila thrust one blade of her lightsaber into the creature's neck and the blade of energy sizzled through skin, protruding out of the top of his bald scalp. The mace fell from his hand and he crumpled to the floor in a heap. All went quiet.

Carth pointed to one of the corpses lying on the hard metal floor around the group. "What the _fuck_ were those?"

"Optur Forwyn," Knight breathed. "Ash Wraiths, special forces operators of the Coalition."

"The Aughrast are working for the Sith now?" Carth shook his head in disbelief. "When did that happen?"

"Probably around the same time we," Knight pointed at himself, "started working for the Republic. You know how these fascists are with the raging chubby they get trying to wipe us out."

"The Commander is right," Bastila agreed. "If the Aughrast Coalition is working in tandem with the Sith and, by extension, Malek, we must be on our highest guard until we can get into contact with Republic High Command."

Kinght and Carth agreed with a sharp "Right."

Then, they heard the sound of clapping. "Excellent work, my friends. Truely you are worthy opponents, far much better than mindless training droids or Rakhghouls. I will earn my place at the Sith Academy on Korriban today. Darth Malak will reward me for your heads." A young, muscular man stepped forward, clad in silver armor and wielding a spear. His head was shaved and his jaw was set with determination. This was the Sith governor, a tough, experienced soldier, who's ambition was to join the ranks of the Dark Jedi.

Knight quickly injected a medpac into his broken arm and the numbness faded somewhat. After a moment of wriggling his fingers, finding some new strength as his nerves tingled. Still, he was badly injured and their odds were not good. Nearby, Bastila hobbled on her good leg, trying to circle to the other side. The two made eye contact and Knight could see the fear and doubt in the Jedi's eyes.

Bastila launched a clumsy thrust, which the governor parried without effort. "Perhaps I will take you alive, Bastila. Darth Malak _may_ have use for you…after I've finished."

The Jedi grunted angrily and took a defensive stance, putting all of her weight on her good leg. The governor laughed. "How feeble you two look. Perhaps this won't be such a challenge after all." He launched a series of swift, probing attacks and Bastila became hard pressed, parrying wildly. Knight moved in to distract him. Favoring his right arm, he wound his left back and cannoned it forward. The governor turned and dodged his attack. He rose and thrust at Knight's throat. The Commander sidestepped and grasped the shaft of the Sith's spear with one hand. He smiled, thinking that the Spartan had made a grave mistake. A sharp bark of a gunshot thundered in the otherwise silent room, and the smile slowly faded from the Sith's features as he looked down to see Knight's side arm pressed into him midsection, blood spreading wide from the point where the muzzle touched his clothing.

"I'm...I'm...shot," he managed, before his eye rolled over. The governor collapsed sideways and Knight let his sore arm hang limp, and he fired two more rounds into the man before them; one into his chest and one into his head. An insurance package to make certain the govenor was dead. The man twitched and exhaled his last breath as Knight noticed something around his neck. Reaching down and then pulling the lanyard from his corpse, he read the card. "'Sith Transponder Codes'," he turned his head to the side. "Somebody please tell me it couldn't be that obvious?"

"You don't know the Sith," gasped Bastila weakly, "They lack a certain...subtlety."

"And intelligence," Carth added. Bastila watched Knight as he leaned against the wall opposite of him, sighing heavily before limping to wear she sat. She could tell he was relieved. The Spartan wiped the blood from her eye and tenderly helped her tie gauze around her leg, so as not to cause either of them further pain. She groaned, but nodded her thanks. Her head rang from the earlier explosion.

"Tell me you have something, Onasi," Knight shook a bottle of antibiotics and gently spread it along the inside of the gauze bandage.

Carth took some items from the governor and motioned to the door. "We have what we need. It's time to go," he said urgently. Bastila struggled to rise, but Knight had to help her stand.

"I'm okay," she said gruffly. "Really, I am."

Carth hobbled to the door. "I hope that's the last of them. We can't last much longer."

Knight nodded as he set several large blocks of plastic explosives around the Sith bodies. They would have to blow them up to mask the theft of the codes, as well as scattering a few Vulkar itemsabout. "This'll send them in the wrong direction."

As he took a breath, Mission led Zaalbar and T3 down the hall, Bishop followed close behind. "There's a back door out. I've held any reinforcements off for a few minutes," announced the Twi'lek.

"Christ alive, you kids look like hell," Bishop chuckled, looping one of Carth's arms around his shoulder to help him move.

Carth gave a weak smile through bloody lips and teeth. "Shut it, Bishop."

Mission navigated the way to the back door and T3 opened the portal. With another medpac injection, Carth could walk on his own. The Republic officer tried a wry smile to mask his mood. "We got the codes, now Canderous has to do his part."

"I'm not going to hold my breath," said Bastila with a sense of resignation. In that, Carth had to agree with her. Never trust a Mandalorian.


	10. Chapter IX: Double Shot

**_A/N: Short update, wanted to incresae the chapter length to meet my quota. Combined the two for compromise. Hence the new title. Thinking weirdly for some reason, puzzling. Also, have canceled plans for flashback, stupid idea. _**_**Mostly old-folk rabble here guys. Plus new character's introduction. Much based off of my crazy die-hard uncle Joey. Served with the US Navy from the bombing of Pearl harbor to the Fall of Saigon.**_

_**Also, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my paternal grandfather who died the other night. **__**Thanks for the support.**_

******_- Leake_**

**IN ****MEMORIAM**

**Donald Leslie Leake, Sr.  
****December 14th, 1940 - December 21st, 2010**

_"Goodnight sweet prince, and may wings of angels sing thee to thy rest."_

* * *

_"Senators of the Rebuplic, my people once came to you seeking peace and friendship and have since been met only with indifference and contempt; so I shall return it. We are soldiers, and we will honor the the men and women who gave their lives in the Abyss and the Great Sith War for your people and always stand ready to defend the Republic, but I come with a warning to any race that would prove hostile: **Fuck** with us, and we **will** kill you **all**."_

**- ****Fleet Admiral Micheal Knight to the Galactic Republic Senate; August 23rd, 1540 AGM.**

* * *

**"Double Shot: Bombardment"  
88:03:21 - (Knight Mission Clock)  
ADM Saul Karath  
Sith Empire  
**_**Leviathan **_**Bridge**

In a high orbit above Taris, a massive starship floated ominously, looking like a giant silver claw. At 600 Meters in length, the _Leviathan_ was the pride of the Sith Fleet and flagship to Admiral Saul Karath, traitor to the Republic. With an armament of twenty Quad Laser Cannons, two Ion Cannons, and four Turbolaser Batteries, the _Leviathan_ could dole out unheard amount of damage to an enemy fleet or planet. In addition to her lethal armament, swarms of Sith interceptors flew combat patrol around her, keeping her safe from enemy fighters.

Peering out from the Bridge of the powerful ship, a dark figure stood, tapping his fingers on a metal ring surrounding his neck and lower jaw. His face was pale gray, almost deathlike with his bare head sporting dark, tattooed arrows, pointing forward, giving him a ghastly appearance. He was clad in a form-fitting maroon bodysuit and a black cape, which flowed down from the metal ring. His belt held a short silver rod, a lightsaber, the symbol of a Jedi. Here stood Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith, fallen Jedi, slayer of millions. Here was the awful apprentice of Darth Revan, the betrayer of the Republic.

Malak turned from the window to face Admiral Karath. In his baleful mechanized voice, he instructed Karath to bring Colonel Pfeif, the Commander of the Taris Occupation Force. Nervously, Karath bowed and made the call.

Soon, a fearful-looking Colonel Pfeif arrived on the Bridge wearing his dark gray Sith uniform that was covered in medals. Pfeif bowed low to the Dark Lord. "Lord Malak, I am here," the colonel said with trembling voice.

Without emotion, Malak pointed a long, icy finger at the colonel. "_Why_ have you not found Bastila? _Why_ has one of my outposts been destroyed?"

The color drained from the colonel's face and he quailed as he loosened his collar. He took a long, hard gulp. "My Lord, the Rakhghouls are too fierce. My men are not trained to fight such creatures. One of the Swoop Gangs, the Vulkars, destroyed the outpost."

Malak shook his head in disagreement and his yellow eyes radiated cold anger. This was not the answer he wanted to hear. His patience had worn out. "A pathetic street gang was capable of killing off a platoon of Aghrast Fire Hands with no casualties what so ever? Your ignorance insults me you cowering fool, _Bastila_ was behind the raid on the base. You have failed me, Colonel, and now you will pay the price." It was time for a lesson and an example, he reasoned, and what better way to do so than the man who was leading the ground forces.

Lightning erupted from Malak's outstretched hand and flew over the colonel's body. The hapless Pfeif, jerked and wailed with each arc of energy until he fell to the deck, smoking, his skin charred, eyes reduced to ooze. The Dark Lord looked into the eyes of each crew member, ensuring that the lesson had been learned. The near terror on the faces of the men and women assured him that his message was clear. He had not come this far only to lose his chance at victory over the mistakes of a minion.

Malak then turned to Saul Karath, directing his chilly gaze at the admiral. "Remove him and find Bastila. Do _not_ fail me."

"Yes, of course, Lord Malak."

* * *

**"Double Shot: The Ram"  
********August 10th, 1496 AGM – 10:08:45 (Spartan Time Index)  
********CMDRE Vitirus Hroom  
********Commanding Officer, 45th Naval Flotila, Spartan Colonial Navy  
********Captain's Quarters, SCN Flagship _Highward Dusk_**

At seventy-one, Vicitirus Arletek Hroom was an item waning on its shelf life in Spartan terms and an ancient relic to the humans of the Republic. A veteran of more wars than he could count with both hands, and though most would believe these experiences would make him humble, they instead made him increasingly...disgruntled. He didn't consider himself bitter, none-the-least; quite the opposite effect had occured to him in his long career. He spoke in a much softer manner than many of the other ship commanders he was acquainted with, though that was probably dut to his raising of his own children. That experience had led to his mentoring a plethora of aspiring fleet officers about the tools of modern warfare in the Spartan Military; still taught a small class at the Naval Academy orbiting Tharsis when he wasn't zipping about the galaxy on some fool's errand. Most prestigious of all he still served as one of the few arms of the Fleet Admiral, this one his close friend who will always be the rambunctious, authoritative, fierce and brilliant Commander he had served under in his youth. He was one of two men and women that had survived the chaos of in those long forgotten, far off days, how fitting it had been when his once-and-still commanding officer placed him in command of their old unit after his appointment some number of decades ago, and the trust of training the Admiral's ass-stubborn offspring.

Including his six daughters and the infamous commanding officer of the _Blue Stallion_, the key contestant of the the next Fleet Admiral when her father finally lets his age catch up and retire. A soft smile curved at his lips at the thought. He soon remembered promising his little sons that had died within months of their commission into the Colonial Navy they would have their chance to do the same and make their father proud, and his solitary scowl returned. Eight boys barely older than twenty, full of promise and talent and passion take their oaths and receive their ships only to be killed living up to the legendary feats performed by their father or simple bad luck. Eight men, eight ships, hundreds of crewmen slain for what? The expectation that an entire galaxy had for them, of what their people had for them. Eight sons buried in coffins that were usually empty, wrapped in the Union Standard and lowered into an eight-by-three hole on Elysium surrounded by trillions of others who had died in the name of protecting those unable to defend themselves.

Eight died, and very little was in hopes of the ninth. A smug laughed escaped from the aged officer as he sat in the chair in his quarters. How he'd have loved to see the look on the faces of the pompous jackasses in Congress when that same son declared he had no interest joining the navy, and was more inclined towards one of the most fatal branches of military service in the long, bloody history of the galaxy. The Corps' requests for new equipment sure as hell went through after Jack was sworn in, whether those poor bastards believed in it or not. None of them wanted to feel the wrath of the Fleet Admiral should the youngest member of the Knight tribe be slain on the fault of shitty gear. In turn, Jackson Mathis Knight had become a legend in his own right, nearly outshining the examples left by his elders, all the while becoming more and more into his father with each and every moment that passed.

It was almost pathetic the way they were wrapped around that kid's livelihood, _almost_. Being perfectly honest with himself, it was good that those pencil-pushers started contributing to their _actual_ duty as politicians in a militaristic society, being less concerned on how the Union was run and more concerned about their _severe_ dereliction of duty with the positions they held and how fragile those were.

But, again being honest, who could blame them? He and Fleet Admiral Knight were figurative unicorns, and recalled the day the level-headed man marched into the senate hall with cameras broadcasting their image across the entire galaxy at the historical moment of meeting with such a mysterious race of soldiers and a full grin spread across his face as he recalled the unanimous expressions of shock that decorated the Senators gathered to receive them when the Admiral made it clear the threat of ultimate genocide against any of their "allies" who would cross them to satisfy their race's ego.

To his amazement, instead of rallying against the quite out-numbered species, the Republic planets rallied _with_ them. For all their play and joke of the Galactic Senate, the people on the opposite side of the Laricanus Abyss made no illusion that they fully respected and honored the agreement between the two galactic powers and would provide any support necessary in service to the Spartan Union to repay them for saving the Republic from the Sith menace and shamed those who wouldn't. They were all heroes, it was declared, the men and women of the Thermopylae outpost had sacrificed themselves to protect a group of people they had never known in a war they had no place in being a part of; not for glory or honor or for reward, but because it was their duty as soldiers to defend the oppressed and strike down their oppressors, whatever the cost.

He wondered then if, at this moment, Jack was doing the same on the planet of Taris; fighting not for a specific people, but for those who practiced the belief that the people of the Spartan Union were to be respected and studied with caution; that same treatment the gave the mysterious presence the simply called "The Force", to be feared rather than loved in Machiavellian terms. It amazed him to know end the superstitions that lingered in the hearts and minds of the Jedi Order, who held the the powers that bound the universe together in their fingertips but were too afraid to see what they could accomplish for risk of a galactic war. An admirable position to take, he would openly admit. He had studied the events that led to the Great Hyperspace War and fought in the Great Sith War, even joining one of the many Jedi strike teams that operated in the Great Hunt sometime thereafter to seek out and exterminating any and all Sith-cult devotees and slaying their monstrous creations that had been left after the war.

He had seen the effects of the Force and fought against the evils it could bring about, but excommunicating an entire race for their societal structure as tempting the "lure of the Dark Side", as they called it, was the most selfish and undeserving act he could ever imagine.

"Alright, enough reverie," Hroom muttered aloud as his irritation began to itch at his mood, checking his watch and keyed the COM link to the bridge. "Captain Thresher, ETA to the target?"

_"About thirty seconds, Commodore,"_ his Executive Officer answered. _"Should I give the order for battlestations?"_

Hroom shook his head after a moment of thought before remembering that the junior officer couldn't see him. "Negative, Captain. Wait until we meet with the rest of the fleet near Artero's rings, then issue general quarters."

_"Aye, sir."_

Hroom closed the link and leaned backwards into his chair, the piece of furniture reclining with the movement. His elbow came to rest on the armrest, and his head was propped by the corresponding hand. His thumb and middle finger supporting his brow and cheekbone while his forefinger massaged his temple as his vision grew distance as he formulated a few strategies. It came back into focus on a picture that was resting on the endtable next to his bed of three women and two men. One of the women was dressed in a sheer white gown and was smiling wondrously, the incredible joy that radiated on her pretty face drew a small grin to his lips. He took that picture some fifteen years ago on the wedding day of his youngest daughter, Amy. The others were his eldest daughter, Sarah, his son Marcus and son-in-law Garren, and his own spouse.

"Cathrine," he muttered under his breath and shook his head with a sigh. "Xander, patch a video feed to Tarveilan for me. If you'd be so kind."

"Of course, sir," the proper-toned AI replied, appearing next to him in his usual butler's attire. "Contacting a familiar before heading out?"

"Making plans, Xander," the aging officer replied with a grunt. "Nostalgia's an interesting thing."

"Patching you through now sir."


	11. Chapter X: The Don of Taris

_I also decided against Knight being the straight-and-narrow do-gooder Jedi. Have him dip the brush into both pools, mostly because I want to and partially because there's a tactical advantage towards having both Light- and Darkside powers, as those of us who have dared to play KOTOR on Hard likely know._

_Also, I **may** have made Davik a bit OOC in this part. For some reason he always seemed so one-dimensional to me. An obvious villain with no other moral standings or motivations is rare to come by in today's life, and most mobsters that have existed either did it because they liked the power but held true to honorable traits, saw an opportunity to make money, or really didn't have any other choice (the Prohibition/Depression Era U.S. is a fascinating one). So I meshed in a little Vito Corleone in with his Tony Montana cocktail. _

_While I'm on this note, was anyone else ever just slightly annoyed with the music that played in Davik's mansion?_

- Leake

* * *

_"Not every hero is pure."  
_**- Marketing slogan for Dragon Age: Origins; (c)2010 Electronic Arts/Bioware**_  
_

* * *

**"The Don of Taris"  
88:03:21 (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pltn., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Lower City, Taris**

Back in the Cantina, Knight met with Canderous again. The mercenary was dressed in a faded black shirt with worn leather pants sporting many pockets that mirrored the cargo-pants favored by the utility uniforms worn by members of the Union's navy. He had a harness over his torso that held the tools and weapons of his trade that included small throwing daggers, assorted grenades and ammunition cells for his heavy blaster amongst other miscellaneous items. On his belt were several pouches of varying size that Knight could only guess as to the contents.

The Republic Captain, Carth Onasi, eyed him suspiciously as he sat in the back booth under dim lighting. Canderous chuckled his sarcastic little laugh, the scar on his face wrinkling with his movement. "Your friend looks like hell, stumble across a few more men than he could handle?"

"Nothing _I_ couldn't handle," Carth snorted derisively, letting everyone know of his contempt. "I seem to recall attending the unconditional surrender of the Mandalorians. It was quite the event watching the great clans kneel before the might of the Republic."

"Do tell," the mercenary grunted, unphased, a grin spreading across his features. "I'd like to know where that might went, but I think it all was immolated into the Sith's forces."

Knight slammed his hand on the table with some impatience. His irritation at the bickering was beginning to show. "Enough, from both of you; this dick measuring contest is starting piss me off. Canderous, I have the codes. We need you to do your part." The Raider permitted a glimpse of the Sith medallion, which held the key to their escape.

Canderous' amused smile evaporated to be replaced by a hint of shock. "You actually got the codes…from the Sith…You _are_ quite resourceful," he said, mildly impressed. He extended his hand with an open palm. "Excellent, give them to me and I will tell you where we shall meet."

Against a cautious glance from Knight, Carth chuckled, not in any way willing to play this game they had been roped into on the Mandalorian's terms. "Not a chance. _We_ go with you, _we_ get the ship, and then _we _use the codes together to get off of Taris."

The big man grinned at being caught in his bluff, nodding his approval to the Republic officer. "Hah. Fine, we'll do it your way." He looked at Knight. "Davik has shown great interest in you, personally as well as professionally. I can get you in to meet him. He's mentioned how he would like you to work for him, but I don't think he knows of your soft side."

Knight gave him a mildly hardened look. "What are you playing at?"

"Don't be coy," Ordo continued. "You gave Largo and Holdan money for their contracts to be removed; Largo's caused by his debt and Holdan's as a bribe to nix the price on that waitress Dia, respectively. You asked for almost nothing in return. Nobody…and I mean nobody does that on Taris."

"You wanna see my 'soft' side _poi'yoh_?" Knight's voice dropped to a half-growl, half whisper. "Were it up to me, I'd have watched them all squirm and twitch as the sorry excuses for lives drained from their bodies into a pool around them and taken their heads to Davik _eb-personna_ and not bat an eyelash either way. Fortunately for them, in this shit-hole you _advet-nicht_ call a planet, you get by with the help of a few ears to the ground and a pocket full of snitches and information brokers. Money's nice for the average bean counter with a wife and kids and a mortgage he can't quite pay off; but in our case," he gestures to his group, consisting of a stern faced Bishop and a shocked Carth, "information is more valuable to us than a whole army base of steel." Whether or not Knight had made his point, Canderous betrayed no shift in demeanor.

Still, the mercenary winced as if struck. "I keep forgetting what you are, Spartan. It's a wonder how we even managed to establish any sort of ground on you colonial worlds in the Abyss," Canderous announced with a bit too much bluster and pride to match his respect for the man before him.

Knight stared him in the eye, meeting his intense gaze head on. The Mandalorian was a man who had to be met head on without the hint of intimidation. "You sure as hell tried," Carth could swear that a small narrow strip of lightning wavered between the faces of the two men. Canderous eventually gave in, looking away and Knight continued, "Now that we've all had our little bouts, let's meet Davik."

Knight reached his hand up to headset and called Mission. When the connection was made, after a few brief seconds for the relay to beam through the electronic white noise of the planet, he keyed a small button on the side of his headset to use the secure channel to keep any unwanted listeners away from his conversing. "Mission, it's Knight. We're through here, send Bastila to meet us. I need you to prepare our things to depart Taris on a moment's notice. Our plan is going well."

_"Copy that, Big K, see you in a few."_

"'Big K' now, are we?" Carth asked in a half-sarcastic, half joking voice; his face split with a grin.

The glare the Spartan cast was enough to cut through granite. "Don't even start, Onasi."

Bishop listened to the exchange in confusion. "Don't start what?"

**...**

Canderous took them to a hovercar, where they met Bastila, waiting impatiently. Knight could see her tapping her foot while biting her lower lip, their glances met and she gave him a worried expression. A pang in the back of his mind was telling them that they were heading into some deep trouble, but what other choice did they have? They boarded the speeder and the merc powered up and flew them to the grand estate of Davik Kang, the _de facto_ crime lord of Taris. Despite his best efforts, Knight's eyes widened with wonder as the estate came into view. While he had grown up in places of natural wonder, Davik's home defied imagination. It was opulent with vast pools of crystal water and magnificent fountains, lined with marble statues. Swarms of maintenance droids scurried about, constantly cleaning the veritable palace which had been built upon the misery of uncounted multitudes enslaved to Davik; soft-note music, oddly enough, drifter from speakers flesh with the ornate and intricately carved wall mantles.

Canderous guided the hovercar into a docking bay and landed the car softly. He then led them to a grand conference room filled with extravagant riches, exotic treasures, and bizarre trophies hung on the rich paneled walls. Grotesque alien heads from dozens of worlds adorned a section of the wall as a testament to Davik's skill as a hunter and his cruelty as a man. In the center of the room sat Davik Kang upon a kingly throne. He was attired in an insanely expensive gold lame befitting a Taresian noble and his iron gray hair was finely coiffed for the occasion.

Calo Nord stood at the side of the throne, dressed in his blue robe with sentry droids flanking the room. A domestic droid hovered in front of Davik, laden with refreshments.

The big Mandalorian led the crew across a deep piled carpet to stand before Davik, the two Spartans taking notice of the various exits from the corners of their eyes. Knight looked over to see Calo direct a smirk at the mercenary. Bad blood had grown between Davik's two best servants as Nord's ambitions became obvious. Nord was the junior of the two enforcers and Canderous' presence blocked his further rise to power. The diminutive Nord decided to taunt the big Mandalorian.

"Canderous, I thought you only worked alone. It seems _age _is catching up to you and you now need some nursemaids to help you," Calo said with obvious scorn.

Always one for a good fight, Canderous took the bait. "Nord, you're _short_ on time yourself, so don't think you know all about me. Your experience here is still _small_." The mercenary's reference to Calo's lack of height could not go unnoticed and the group could feel the tension mount like a volcano about to erupt. Bishop held back an amused snicker and tried to force down the smile that crept at his face, a swift elbow from Knight into his side straightened him out.

The crime lord waved his hand in irritation. "Enough, both of you. I can't have my two best enforcers kill each other. It's bad for business," the he said with an edge. His manner and voice projected power and confidence. Davik was a man use to getting his way or dealing out consequences. When Canderous and Calo settled down, Davik looked warmly at the group, his eyes settling Bastila. "I am honored by this visit from such lovely creatures."

Knight could tell right away that Davik's attitude towards others was solely as property or as tools for his benefit. He was sizing them up as pawns for his crime empire…or tools for his pleasure. Knight rolled his hands into tight fists before releasing them, looking between Bishop, Bastila and Carth. Things were going to get interesting and he would need to think on his feet.

"I wish to introduce Jack **Ednar**," Canderous' emphasis on the false name was a que for Knight to play along. "The winner of the Taris Dueling Championship and the Taris Swoop Bike Finals," Canderous said proudly. Knight furrowed his brows, always uncomfortable with the spotlight, and silently praying that Davik was as arrogant and ignorant of the Cancius and the happenings there as he appeared to be. He made a slight bow to Davik, who stood to greet him. Off to the side, Bastila's expression registered obvious irritation, her face pinched up and her nose wrinkled. She did not seem to like the idea of the Commander getting so much attention.

The powerful crime lord approached the slightly taller Spartan and took his hand. He liked to play the genteel noble now that he was accepted into polite society on Taris. "It has been many years since someone has..._intrigued_ me so much," he declared in a syrupy voice. Then, as an afterthought, he shook Carth's hand and Bishop's.

"I like the music you've got here," Knight commented.

Davik either didn't hear him, or pointedly ignored him. "My mercenary tells me that you are interested in working for me. I pay well and there are many pleasures associated with my benevolence," he crooned.

"They say that the name most common carries the most power," Knight nodded, playing the awestruck journeyman, "and I have heard your name far and wide upon Taris. I thought we might make good…partners."

Bishop almost broke into laughter. Here Knight was, the crowning example of how authority was genetic, and he was doing his damnedest to ham it up here and make Davik think he might be a good trustee. Better yet a good enforcer, someone who had direct access to his resources. It was the single most hilarious thing he had seen his friend do in the past fifty ears he'd known him.

"Perhaps not in the most positive of tones."

"You kill people you don't like, I kill people who don't like me," Knight gave a little shrug. "No one's perfect."

The crime lord smiled. "Come, let me give you a tour of my estate," he said, sweeping his hand across the room. "I've spent much of my time here since the Sith quarantine. If only we could get those codes from the Sith, we could come and go as we please and I could show you so much more."

With a dramatic wave of his arm, he led them down a series of polished halls to a great hangar. He opened the giant metal door with loving pride and a battered old ship was revealed in all her glory; Knight's and Bishop's eyes went wide in surprise. She was gray and golden-orange in color and semi-circular in shape. "May I present my pride and joy, the _Ebon Hawk. _She's saved my life more times than I can recall. Picked her up on a drifting moon in the Larechanus."

"She looks fast," mentioned Carth as he looked over the old ship with knowing eyes.

"A Union scouting ship, damn." Bishop let a low whistle. "How'd you manage to get her across the Abyss?"

"I have my ways." Davik nodded enthusiastically. "She's the best thing I've ever stolen. With the extensive modifications I've made to her systems, she'll do point two past light speed. Now look here…I've got the finest security system money can buy. The _Ebon Hawk _doesn't go anywhere unless I say so." He pointed to tall poles, which glowed with purple energy; Knight and Bishop glanced about the room, feigning disinterest and observing all the most obvious security parameters at the crimelord's 'command'. Davik then shook his head. "It's all moot though, unless we can get those Sith codes. Come, let me show you to your quarters."

Davik and Calo led them to a series of luxurious rooms. In the wondrously decorated hallway, Davik commented, "Until you are all given clearances, do not try to go beyond the guest areas. My security is tight and I have many droids patrolling the halls. I wouldn't want any of you to get hurt." The veiled threat was obvious.

He ushered Carth and Bishop into their rooms and then walked Bastila to hers. Lastly, he escorted Knight to a guest suite. It was magnificent in every way: a beautiful view, an indoor pool, a sunken whirlpool tub, domestic droids, a wet bar, and a massive bed, covered in red, silken sheets. The room was obvious in its seductive power and Davik intended to use the leverage. Knight found himself drawn to the bustling skyline that stretched on and on until the curvature of the planet made it disappear.

The suave crime lord strode to the bar and brought out two drinks into crystal glasses. "What'll you have? I think I still have a bottle of Spartan import somewhere."

"Any kind of whiskey'll do," Knight answered absently. "I'm not the kind for soft liquor."

"Calo Nord says you're too green for this line of work, but Zax the Hutt gave you a sterling recommendation," he said, taking a sip of the smooth liquor. He paused for a moment, savoring the taste. Then, he put a finger to his lips. "I think Calo's had too hard a life; he doesn't trust _anyone_. Poor little man, sold into slavery as a boy. He was beaten daily until he butchered his owners at the age of sixteen. He then went on a rampage, killing everyone who had anything to do with his servitude…including his parents."

"And I'm supposed to feel sorry for him because...why?" Davik glanced up at him slight surprise, at an unexpected loss for words. Knight continued. "I can understand some of the bitterness that Calo harbors in that 'dark heart' of his, but he acts like he's better than everyone else. Especially to my friends," Knight turned to the crime lord. "Especially to me."

"A grave and fatal mistake for many, I assume?"

Knight's tone was monotonous. "More than you could count."

With a bemused grunt, Davik handed Knight a glass of amber liquid and he took it cautiously, swirling the liquid. He raised his glass in a toast. "To new partnerships." Knight returned the toast, looking out the transparisteel window onto the breathtaking skyline of Taris with her silver spires. The liquor had a smooth start and a fiery finish, the flavor hanging loosely on his tongue for a moment before disappearing completely.

"Man of few words, I take it?" Davik observed after a moment. "Or is it the view?"

"It's a mixture of both, I think," Knight replied. "When I have something to say, I'll say it. If not, I just sit quietly and...brood," he scoffed. "For lack of a better term."

Davik nodded. "An admirable trait. Some people have it in their minds that what they have to say is more important than anything else in the world."

"I certainly hope you're using the word 'some' rather loosely."

The elder man chuckled. "More so than I'd like. I can imagine you've have had an arduous day and would like to retire for the evening. However, it would be my delight to dine with you tomorrow night."

"Only me?" Knight turned his head, his tone still flat. "Seems a waste."

Davik let out a little laugh. "I mean you and your group, of course, think of it as a welcoming party."

A wide grin labored Knight's face. "With cake and games?"

With a hearty laugh he took another sip, draining the glass and then snorted. "I like you, Knight. You're a good man," he said, playing off of the liquor that they were imbibing. He glanced one last time at the setting Tarisian sun. "Ahhh, Deralian Jasmine," he said longingly. He sighed and began to leave. "I look forward to it with great eagerness, my friend." They shook hands again and and he departed.

When the door hissed shut, Knight grunted and downed the remains of the glass in one hard gulp. "Trapped in the estate of a hard-up geezer crime lord with only one way out. Great job, Jack. Wonderfully thought out." Despite his self ridiculing, he poured himself another drink and scanned around the room with an IR sweeper to find any bugs. This was not going to get any easier and he realized that he might actually have to get cozy with the idea of serving Davik. As he ruminated about the impending state dinner with a mob boss, the doorbell rang; it was, oddly enough, Bastila.

"I saw him leave. He didn't try anything, did he?" She asked.

Knight grunted while the indicator on his HUD dinged, reporting the room clean. "Usual sit-down meeting. He's sizing me up to see how useful I can be," he sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I scanned the room already. No bugs."

Bastila seemed relieved, to which statement Knight wasn't sure. "Good. Well, he recommended that we try out the baths. I figured we should humour him while we finalize things with Canderous."

Knight shrugged. "I could use a bath. Hot water and hard drinks do well to ease the turmoil of a mind." To the Jedi's credit and Davik's, it did sound like a good idea and went to the bathroom to change into something akin to a bathing suit, if their gracious host supplied his guests as well as he thought. After a few moments, the muscular and rugged Spartan emerged in loose-fitting pair of trunks of iridescent blue that sat low oh his hips and ended at his mid-thighs, the largest pair he could find in the closet, the long ends of ties clutched in his fists and he worked about tightening the article of clothing. To his frustration, the bits of cord refused to go any further than they were now and decided that would have to be enough. As he slung a towel over his shoulder, he caught the young woman looking at him and she abruptly turned away, a light redness forming at her cheeks.

Making the faintest of smiles, a light laugh escaped Knight's throat until he looked down at his forearm, which had a curious scar. _Where did I get this?_ Not a question he was frequently familiar with asking, for surely he would have remembered getting cut anywhere on his person. It was rather vexing, but he could not recall the circumstances of the wound. Well, it wasn't that important, he was certain he had many marks of injury he'd forget the stories of. He shrugged off the thought and they departed to acquire Bishop and Carth and soon they were all sitting in a large, bubbling hot tub as Twi'lek girls massaged them. Warm fingers worked aromatic oil into their skin. As Knight flitted in and out of a relaxed sleep, Canderous approached.

"I see you are making good use of the facilities," he said, sliding into the water with a splash, his swimwear tightly hugging his muscled frame.

Knight nodded while Carth gave a satisfied grunt. "

Canderous assured them that the area was free of surveillance and they discussed their plan in hushed whispers. "Hudrow, the pilot of the _Ebon Hawk_, stole some spice from Davik and got himself thrown into the torture room. Other than Davik, only Hudrow has the codes to the security system. We'll need to spring him so he can fly the ship as well."

"I'm a pilot," added Carth, "skills are a little rusty around the edges, but I think I can manage flying a Spartan vessel."

The mercenary pushed his lower lip out. "I'm impressed," he said, looking at Knight, who was sliding back into a moment of relaxed drowsiness. Then, he turned back to the Twi'lek girls with a lascivious grin. "Okay, it's time for the full treatment. These Twi'leks will do you right." Canderous stepped out of the pool, water dripping down his toned body. He was in great shape for his age.

Two Twi'lek girls pranced up to him and gently wrapped him in plush towels, wiping the water from his skin. Canderous smiled. "It'll be a shame to give all of this up," he said, putting his thick arms around one of the girls and giving the other a firm smack on the rear.

Bastila groaned in obvious disapproval. "How typically male."

"Mm-hmm," Bishop grunted, half registering what she had said in his sedated state.

"We all have our pleasures," Knight flexed little. "Regardless of who, or what, we are."

Bastila blushed lightly and averted her gaze from the Spartan's bulky physique. Carth shrugged boyishly and followed the mercenary to another room where they received a thorough massage with exotic, fragrant oils. Under the expert touch of the masseuse, the Captain sighed peacefully. The stress of the past two weeks had been enormous and was beginning to reach a boiling point.

"Those two are getting along better than I'd expected," Knight observed as the two old enemies veered out of earshot. Bastila rolled her neck about, popping a stubborn joint at last and fixed her grey eyes on the Spartan.

"Really? And how was it you expected them to get along?"

"Something involving a garote wire and a lot of broken furniture." Knight replied in a deadpan tone, folding his arms behind his head as Bastila gave a soft laugh.

Bastila smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure that would have been detrimental to our health."

"More so theirs than yours," Knight assured her. "Besides, Carth could use to get knock down a few pegs. Maybe put him in his place when he regards decisions made by his commanding officers." Ring from the tub, Knight wrapped a towel about his waist and headed for one of the private massage rooms, his naivel curiosity getting the better of him, the 'full treatment' sounded very relaxing indeed, and decided to take advantage of the massage while Bastila returned to her quarters, saying that she had had her fill of Davik's 'supplied entertainment'. Knight bid her fare well. The Lieutenant Commander followed the Twi'lek masseuse to another room and lay down upon the soft massage table as mentholated steam surrounded them, opening his pores and sinuses. The masseuse laid out bowls of water filled with flowers to add to the experience. His tight muscles were worked out by strong, sure hands as the steam enveloped his senses. Fragrant incense and aromatic oils completed the luxurious ambiance. Knight cooed in complete satisfaction.

When the masseuse had finished kneading his bare skin, she disrobed completely and smiled at the semi-sedated Spartan. "Shall I finish your treatment, M'Lord?"

Knight, in his relaxed state, took a moment to register what he was looking at. When the lights clicked on, he curse in surprise and rolled right off the table, scrambling to cover himself. "What in the hell!" He roared, knocking over a jar of oil.

"Surely you knew of how this treatment would end," the girl, half his size, ran her tiny hands over his wide chest. "Master Ordo is usually so informative with the people he brings in."

He took a step toward her. "He failed to mention that little bit of detail. Now, miss, I really should get-"

Her face went ashen with shock over his rebuff with her mouth wide open. "But Davik will be displeased. You're a special guest. I want you to be satisfied. And...Oh, my..."

Knight clasped his hands over his loins. _Damnable sex drive. Focus, Knight. Pink elephants, think of pink elephants..._

It helped little, Knight sighed and fired off strings of rapid curses in several languages. Shaking his head he looked at the young woman who'd pressed her head against his chest. "You have a very strong heart," she said. "It sounds like the pistons in an engine."

_You are **not** helping. _"Alright, fine," he growled. "But not a word comes out of you after, alright?"

"Oh yes, m-"

"Quiet," Knight cracked the door open and peered his eye through for a moment. Only Canderous, Bishop and Carth remain; Bishop slept heavily, lulled by the bubbling water and floating about in the clear water. Canderous was sitting with a drink in hand and a smug look on his face. "Let's make this quick."

Minutes later, Knight emerged from the "massage" room with a heavy sigh and rolled his neck around and drew his shoulders back. With a long groan he leveled his vision with the still grinning mercenary.

"You are certain you are satisfied, M'Lord?" The exhausted Twi'lek managed to say from where she lay on the table.

"I am. I will let Davik know you were the sufficient."

"Oh, thank you, M'Lord," he said, happy that Davik would not be displeased. Managing to stand, she bowed deeply, still uncovered.

Knight walked to the bar, and ordered a glass of the strongest they had. He wanted to plant his fist into the Mandalorian's rugged features and wipe that grin from his face. "You could have told me that this was not _just_ a massage."

The mercenary's eyes opened wide in mock surprise and amusement. "That doesn't sound like resent to me," he called sarcastically. "Good to see you enjoy life's little luxuries every once in a while. But, Master Knight, how did she fair?"

"I not a fan of the 'Kiss-and-Tell' practice, but...that one," Knight motioned toward the roo, with a hard sigh, tilting the glass and gulped the harsh liquid. "Awful. Had to talk her through half the damn thing. Just absolutely awful."

Carth chuckled with a measure of mirth. "You sound like you're well practiced. You've done something like that before?"

"Something similar," Knight replied. "But much more satisfactory."

"I suppose," Canderous slid his lower lip out in suggestion, "I _could _let Davik know that his entertainment isn't pleasing to his guests, but then, he won't have long to rectify it, would he?"

"No," Knight grumbled low in his throat, knocking back another glass. "He _won't_."

**...**

After a few rounds, Knight returned to his designated room and fell down onto the plush, maroon bed. Although the massage had relaxed him, the lackluster coitus had drained most of the experience's pleasing elements from him. With and inward sigh, he reached for the control device on the end-table to deepen the polarization of the windows and soften the noise dampener so he had some kind of background noise to gauge any other sounds made in the room. He turned his and watched as traffic pass as he lay on the massive bed for a time until he drifted off into a deep slumber, eventually wandering into REM sleep, his mind slipped off to another place, another time.

_Bastila Shan is on the bridge of a massive ship, holding her lightsaber in a defensive posture, her weight on her back leg. She is clad in brown and sienna robes that whirl about her body with every sparse agitation. Other Jedi stand in front of her, their weapons at the ready, their faces fixed in deadly determination. Behind them are a group of Raider operatives, breathing in heavy exhaustion and clutching make-shift bandaging to grizzly wounds that seep blood. In body suits of gray and black, Dark Jedi rush forward and the battle is joined. Deadly energy swirls and cuts through flesh and bone. Limbs fly and bodies fall. Bastila strikes down an enemy with a spinning slice and the bridge grows quiet, save for the hum of lightsabers. Bastila looks down to see smoking corpses litter the ground._

_A dozen Jedi are left and they advance cautiously against a lone Sith lord. The figure is cloaked and hooded in black, his back facing them as he watched the aerial battle in the blackness of space. The Jedi tremble at the sight and a feeling of a shudder in the Force as he relents an over whelming power that fills the area with the crushing strength of a star's gravity well._

_Bastila steps forward, forcing herself to be confident...to be brave. "Revan, you cannot win. Surrender and you shall receive mercy."_

_Darth Revan releases a sigh. "I'd advise against underestimating me, Bastila Shan," he turns to face them, his face stoic by the crimson mask he wore. "It would be most beneficial to your health."_

_Two Jedi advance slowly, the tips of their lightsabers aimed at Revan's heart. With the simple action of raising his hand, Revan summons his weapon from his belt, the dark metal meets his grasp and it comes to life with a thunderous roar as the blade extends to its full length, extended away from his body and into the plating of the bridge floor. The __ruby-colored lightsaber pulsed with an eerie red light, casting a bloody glow about the damaged bridge._

_In unison, they thrust their blades forward, Revan's arm spins the weapon to deflect. Lethal energy slides by his torso, piercing air. His blinding attack comes so quickly, the weapon becomes a red blur, leaving a scarlet afterimage. Sparks fly upward with the sound of crackling and then the two Jedi stagger. Revan steps back and puts his weight on his back leg, and sweeps the deadly weapon's blade out wide. _

_The two Jedi fall in halves. Revan extinguishes a low, ragged breath. "Two more," he says monotonously._

_Bastila is now in the forefront of the assault force. She is now the tip of the spear, the last hope of the Republic. The shadow standing tightens his free hand with gloved fingers into a fist, then relaxes it open again. Fearful sweat trickles down Bastila's nose and she tastes the salty drops as they reach her lips._

_Bastila gulps hard and inches forward, her hand shaking. She knows she cannot win. She knows she will die here. Before she can strike Revan raises his hand and traps the entire group in a Force stasis field. They all prepare for the finishing blow, the strike that would secure Revan's victory and seal the fate of the doomed Republic. But, out of the corner of her eye she sees through the Bridge window. There are bolts of energy flashing from Darth Malak's ship, the **Leviathan**. Malak is firing on Revan's ship! _

_"You are not meant to die here," Revan's soft voice barely registers as a murmur in the Jedi's thoughts, her eyes go wide with horrified awe as Revan turns to the shots that would end his tragic life. __The bolts impact on the Bridge and Revan is engulfed in blinding light. In the shock wave, the stasis force that had protected them failed and the Spartans and other Jedi fall and Bastila is hurled to the deck like a sack of credits._

_Seen through Revan's eyes, she is covered in soot and debris, battered and hurt the young Jedi crawls forward and sees him smashed against the viewing glass and an immense pipe that nearly crushes his chest with its weight. His arm moves and the skin is torn into a grizzly gash, he raises his head and sputters blood onto the white metal before his world goes dark._

Half awake, half-delirious and in shock Knight staggered down the strangely unguarded hall, muttering random nonsenses and silently screaming, _screaming_ in the most pain he'd ever experienced in his entire life. Nightmare images of places he's never seen flash before his eyes; bodies are impaled on massive stakes driven deep into the earth; children huddle closely around protective arms that turn to slay shadowy foes; blood flickers into and out of reality onto the floor from the scar on his arm. Cries and screams and wails of the dead and dying fill his ears. The scent of bile and sewage and waste and blood and gore fills his nostrils.

His hands find a door, though he doesn't immediately recognize it as a door until he slams against it. He hammers his fist hard onto the metal several times on bare instinct with such a force that he almost feels the breaking of the bones buried beneath the skin and muscle and sinew. A moment later is hissed open and an enraged Basitla, in a silky robe and her underwear readies a slew of obscanities at who had dared disturb her at such an ungodly hour. Her face recessed into terrified concern as she saw the morbid look on his paled face, dripping with icy-cold sweat.

"Commander!" She proclaimed, Knight managed to open his mouth before he collapsed into her room.


	12. Chapter XI: Fall of the House of Kang

_More Calo hating. I'm sadist like that._

_Now comes the fun part. I took a great many cues from the **Jason Bourne** series and the **Ocean's** trilogy in terms of methodical planning and epic escapes. This is slightly anachronistic to the game, I molded the events to better pace Knight's cover as a wanna-be gangster. There's a little bit of Jack/Bastila fluff here, nothing absolutely_ **ZOMG! SMUTTY DEVIATION FROM OFFICIAL PLOT FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME! **_worthy, more like mutual teasing-mucky-flirty things we saw and did in the hallway when we were in High School (remember the awkwardness. **REMEMBER!**) but now inspired by Richard D. Riddick. Though relationships are usually formed by mutually similar feelings. It's only mildly facepalmy, just like our classic High School days. Join me, ladies, as I cringe at all the dumb pick-up lines and weep for the whole of humanity._

_So, yeah. Thanks to all the people who tell me about these things, but unfortunately most of them are trolls that have no idea how the Spell-Check function works nor dare to sign in properly instead leaving Anon. Reviews that just take up space and make me look bad. Thanks to the guys that actually sign in and comment, regardless if you liked it or not._

_My hat's to you fine folk._

- Leake

* * *

**"Fall of the House of Kang"****  
****103:04:54 (LTCDR Jack Knight Mission Clock)****  
****LTCDR Jack Knight****  
****5th Pltn., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders****  
****Bastila Shan's Quarters, Davik's Estate**

The coming light of dawn drew Knight out of his unconsciousness, and away from an unrelenting siege of nightmare images. When his eyes open he found that he was staring at the ceiling. He released a groan of both relief and frustration before slowly, painfully, moving his arm to prop himself upright and get his bearings.

"Good morning," Bastila Shan, from the room's kitchen, called. Knight looked out the towering glass windows and say a thin streak of sunlight peaking through the vast blanket of darkness. "How do you feel?"

"Minor throbbing, nothing serious," Knight sighed, cradling his forehead in his hand. "How long have I been here?"

"About nineteen hours," the Jedi replied, pouring a spoon of spice into a small bowl. "As far as I can tell, either someone tried to poison you, or you had some kind of stress-induced panic attack."

"Lovely," Knight barked a sarcastic laugh. The Jedi woman nodded.

"I managed to work whatever caused it out your system without causing any further damaging effects. Still, I'm amazed you had the strength to carry yourself from your room to mine," Bastila came around the counter with a pot of some kind of stew on a platter. "Here, eat this, it should help with the headache."

_"D'grazziay, Jed'rahn."_ Knight bowed his head, accepting the tray without protest. "What's on?"

"Mabac Soup," Bastila replied. "It's a Jhinari delicacy, or so I'm told. It's not the tastiest meal, but it'll help the nutrition loss from all the sweating."

"Behind the teeth," Knight said with a smug grin, and bit down a spoonful of the concoction and chewed it over before swallowing with a grimace. "It's...sweet."

The Jedi put her hands on her hips. "You expected something more bitter?"

"Generally," the Spartan reasoned and took another bite. "Gotta say, it's not bad."

Bastila's features loosened and a soft smile formed on her lips before her doorbell rang. Bastila motioned for Knight to remain where he was and went to answer, pulling up the camera feed from the outside. "Hello?"

"Master Kang would like the pleasure of your company for breakfast," a silver service droid said with a charming voice.

"Very well," the Jedi responded. "I fear Commander Kni- Endar may have gotten in rather late last night, I'll be sure to pass the message on to him so there's no need for you to disturb him."

The droid stood there for a moment as it processed what Bastila had said. "Very well, thank you for your notice."

Knight rubbed his face from where he sat on the bed, the hellish dreams having mostly faded from his mind. Finishing the soup in a mighty gulp, he rose from bed; he noticed a sleek black outfit that had been laid out on the dining table. "Looks like we've been busy," he commented as he lifted up the garment. Bastila's face went vibrant pink and she snatched it out of his hands.

"Since you're feeling so much better," she snapped, "why not head to your own room and see what the mafia lord left for you?"

Knight's V-shape frame, though having to move from more than a few feet away, seemed to loom over her in an instant. "Yes ma'am," he said with a suggestive grin, pushing his voice to the back of his throat. "Can't wait to see how your sleek, toned body looks in that lithe, _black_ dress."

Her face flushed in a deep shade of red, Bastila twirled around and took off to the bathroom while the Spartan departed. Flustered and unsettled, her domestic droid styled her hair and helped her don the garments that Davik had given her. It was made of a rich, soft material she was unfamiliar with, her first thought was Veteeran lice wool but the thread was far too thin, perhaps a fern species from Naboo? With a contented sigh, she examined herself in the mirror, running her fingers over her pale skin and shivered, shaking her head at her moment of vanity.

_Damnable man. Putting all of these blasted ideas in my head... _

She shook her head and an ambivalent look came over her face, her lips pursed and her eyes looked skyward. A large part of her didn't think the Spartan's intent would be such a bad idea. After all, he barely knew Bastila and she wasn't in any way inclined to dissuade his actions. She could have a few friends, couldn't she? Then, her mind shifted to Revan and his campaign and the damage he had caused, and her features saddened before hardening. _I took an oath. My word is my bond. I have to stay the course. _She emerged from her room to be greeted by Canderous and two sentry droids. The mercenary raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, quite a change from the dirty warrior maid of yesterday."

Bastila returned a vacant smile, hiding her doubtfulness regarding their escape. _How are we going to pull this off?_

"Come now, milady Shan," the Mandalorian beckoned. "The others of your group have been seated. I understand that Commander Endar was rather 'late getting in'?"

"Nothing of your concern," the Jedi quipped back, much to the mercenary's amusement. "And you can remove those lewd imagining from your wretched mind. Nothing of _that sort_ occurred."

"Of course."

They walked to an outdoor balcony overlooking the teeming masses below. The air was somewhat thin and Bastila surmised that they were thousands of meters above the surface. Heaters provided warmth to the area and fountains sprayed fresh water over exotic plants, which bore radiant flowers. Davik stepped onto the balcony and strolled over to take her hand. He was dressed in noble finery of silk, died in exotic reds and dark yellows that accentuated his artificial tan. He guided her to a railing over a lush garden.

"Beautiful, is it not?" he said as he placed a lavender flower in her hair.

The Jedi forced a smile and looked about, noticing Calo Nord and Holdan seated at a long, elegant table carved of bronze metals. Nearby, Canderous smoked a brown cigar as a droid served drinks and fruit to Bishop and Carth. Several Taresian nobles were also seated there, sipping champagne and conversing casually with others – it was a picture of hedonism. Gently, Davik led Bastila back to the table and pulled her chair out, next to his.

He was turning on the charm. "I was hoping that Master Endar could join us, but none-the-less..." Davik's voice trailed off as his gaze caught something he hadn't expected. "By the Force!"

Bastila turned quickly to find what had captured the fascination of the crime lord, fearing it to be a patrol of Sith that had finally found her or, worse, that the same damned forces had begun to assail the planet in a storm of artillery to kill every living being in hopes of slaying her. But what she saw instead swept away the breath in her lungs.

Knight emerged from the opposite hall, dressed in a slate gray evening outfit with a white coat collar on the jacket, off-white shirt and rectangular white fabric that started at the opening of his sleeves and ended at his mid-forearm that he played with to loosen the stiffened clothing. Without a sound made, Knight managed to dominate the attention of the attendees of Davik's conference with unhidden awe, despite the crime lord in their midst. "Sorry I'm late," the Spartan said, though he might as well have bellowed the words from the heavy silence that had befallen the crowd. "I was a little slow getting out of bed. A little too much of the drink last night."

"We all have those days," Bishop, unfazed, commented while he motioned for the Spartan to sit next to him as the party-goers laughed. Canderous nodded to him, mouth firmly set. Bastila couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze away from the set look of...something that rested on Knight's face. He held the look of a man so confident in his own abilities he dared anyone to openly challenge him. The smirk that followed Bishop's comment seemed to broadcast quite effectively that he was better than nearly anyone who stood before him and he was well aware of it; she was amazed at the way his shoulders were defined from the fitting of his suit and how his narrowly cut pants complimented his lean legs.

Knight, too, found his eyes drawn to the Jedi's cream-colored legs that seemed to never end as they extended from her dress's criminally long skirt that ended at her mid-thigh, the way the black fabric formed to her wondrous figure. Eventually his dark blue eyes met with her grey gaze and Knight felt his mouth water. For a moment a part of him wondered why. When Bastila realized how intently he was studying her, she looked away in embarrassment that gained a rumbling chuckle from the Spartan.

"That was quite a feat in how you got Matrik and Selven," Canderous said, breaking the uneasy silence. "I also have to thank you again for helping me in the Undercity. Even _Calo _won't go there." Though he wasn't truly thankful, but couldn't resist a jab at the midget.

Nord grunted sourly while Knight nodded politely and sipped at a glass of sickly-sweet champagne. Smiling, the crime lord took a bite of some alien fruit and looked at his guest. "I hear you hail from the Egreana sector. A rather uneventful region of Cancius space, wouldn't you say?"

"Not in my family," Knight replied. "There were a few points in my life I was under fire. My father is a high ranking officer in the Navy, so where ever we roamed, there was at least three sniper teams and a MISST squad on standby if I - or any of my sisters - were ever in any danger. My father may never admit it, but he made damn sure us kids stayed safe when we went _anywhere_ on our own."

Knight took a deep breath as the memory of his far off homeland faded. He blinked hard, staring off into the Taresian sunrise: bold reds and oranges pierced through amber clouds reflecting off of the silver towers of the decaying city. He was lost in thought.

"Master Endar, are you alright?" asked Davik, his face furrowed in concern. "You look distant."

Knight blinked again, focusing his eyes on him. "Sorry, afraid I spaced out for a moment," he said.

Bastila touched the crime lord's arm. "Davik, tell me about your business here. Canderous Ordo presents a very favorable view of you."

Davik smiled broadly and told about his smuggling operation. Though he couldn't directly see his face, the predator in him shined through in his eyes that became steely and bright. "I'm glad you asked. It's a truly grand undertaking." It seemed he had moved illegal spice and slaves for many years right under the noses of the Jedi and the Republic. He was immensely proud of his accomplishments and made every effort to let Bastila know of his power. "I've personally attended to _every_ detail of my operation."

The Jedi nodded at his words, giving him her every attention. Knight feigned disinterest, but angled his head to better hear their conversing, and noted the kindling discomfort that the Jedi held in check.

_What a **bore,** _Canderous shifted when he noticed this occurrence._ Stay calm, Shan, and don't get panicked, girl. You may be a prissy aristocrat, but you can play the game._

When they had eaten their breakfast, Davik escorted the woman back to the guest lodgings. He brushed his hand lightly across her backside, making her skin crawl. "I'm looking forward to tonight, hon," he said, looking her over as a hungry man feasts his eyes on a succulent meal before he departed for his chambers.

Bastila put on her best fake grin. "See you tonight, Davik."

After she had determined he was out of earshot some seconds later, she allowed herself the shudder that was building itself up inside of her, the extreme want to wretch then and there began to entertain her thoughts, and very nearly did.

"Making plans, are we?" The voice from the shadows startled her, causing her to whirl in surprise and took a defensive pose in a martial art she had studied while still an apprentice, only to see Knight materialized from the blackness.

"By the Force," the Jedi released a frightened breath and relaxed her stance. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Following you, obviously," Knight answered. "I needed to get you alone."

Bastila placed her hand firmly on the Lieutenant Commander's chest, resisting the urge to shiver at the feel of his heat beneath her palm. "Com- _ahem_, Commander, I am fully capable of realizing what you are doing."

Knight raised a brow, his blank stare calling bluff. "Oh, really?"

"Yes," she stated, in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I must say that this behavior is not acceptable towards someone of my stature."

Knight physically _fought _the muscles threatening to split his face in half with laughter. "Do you even know why I came to get you?"

"I have an idea, yes."

"Would this 'idea' be Bishop, Carth and I holding a meeting in my quarters to discuss the next step of our escape while we wait for Canderous to finish discracting the guests?" The smile that spread along Knight's face was almost too suggestive to be while remaining as casual in tone as he was. Bastila struggled to formulate the words to her next train of thought. Before long, she tightly pursed her lips while that lewd smile remained on Commander Knight's face. Without a word, she turned and began walking towards Knight's room.

"So, tell me, Bastila, what was this 'idea' of yours, did something a tad more _appropriate_ to someone of your _stature_ simply pop into your mind?"?" Knight queried in a teasing gesture. Bastila continued on without reply, rolling her eyes. When they reached his room, she went through the opening door and found that Bishop and Carth waiting for them, Knight followed after a moment. "We're clear," Knight grunted and poured a drink as the others continued their conversation.

"Bastila I've been meaning to ask, how did you get caught by the Vulkars? Surely the Jedi have great powers," asked Carth with some amazement.

"Well, Commander…I was focusing on keeping my-" Bishop coughed pointedly. "_Our _escape pod from being crushed while we plummeted through the majority of the Upper City," she said, trying to be confident. She adjusted her dress and continued, "After that, I...I don't know, everything just goes black. The next thing I realize is that I'm in a cell being _greeted_," the way she placed emphasis on the word made Knight's fist tighten, "by Brejik."

Carth continued to press the issue despite Bastila's unease. "But didn't you use that lightsaber of yours? I've seen you in action against the Sith. Surely the Vulkars would pose little threat."

Bastila hesitated for a moment. She seemed lost and her face flushed red. "I…my lightsaber was lost…."

Half laughing, half shocked, Carth retorted, "What? Is that some kind of violation or something? How do you just lose your lightsaber for Heaven's sake?"

Off to the side, Knight turned to the two. Though he couldn't explain why, he could feel the sense of humiliation rolling off of the Jedi. This battle was not helping anyone. "Carth, leave her alone. She's been through a lot."

The Captain shrugged, brushing of the subject without a comment of objection.

Bishop swallowed his mouthful of liquor before clearing his throat. "Guilty on the lightsaber part," he admitted, gaining a fierce glare from the Jedi. "Taking into consideration the secrecy of this operation, Miss Shan, you should be thanking me; if Brejik or any one of his Black Vulkars had figured you out as a Jedi - and the Jedi Malak's been searching for - you'd be in the hands of the Dark Lord and Taris would be ablaze with proton fires."

Bastila went rigid for a moment before offering resigned sigh. "I...I suppose that makes sense. Though I was more than slightly distressed at being mysteriously unarmed, you have my thanks."

This time Carth smirked. "Wow, I find that very funny now that you're safe. I don't know, but if I were you I would leave that one out of the history books," he said, changing his tone, becoming more supportive.

The Jedi nodded. "Yes, when I see the Jedi Council again, they need not hear all of the details of our escape."

As with a ragged sigh, Knight went to sit with them, the doorbell rang. Canderous' face appeared on the visitor display and Knight keyed the door to open. The warrior strutted into the living room and looked the three up and down like insects. "So, people, are you ready for this?" he asked boldly.

* * *

Towering above the crew and consoles on the Bridge of the Sith Cruiser _Leviathan_, Darth Malak's patience had given out. It was time for action…and punishment. He turned sharply, his cape swirling about him. "Admiral Karath…" His golden eyes searched for his minion as the lights reflected off of the metal ring about his jaw.

"Yes, Lord Malak," answered the admiral, taking a step back and raising his hands as if to ward off a blow.

Malak's gray skin wrinkled around his eyes as he furrowed his brows. Static crackled from the speakers on his metal neck ring until his unholy, mechanical voice sounded again. "Admiral, it is taking entirely too long to find Bastila…destroy Taris."

"Milord?"

"You heard me, Admiral. You will commence bombardment of the planet and wipe this pathetic planet from the face of the galaxy."

Admiral Karath's heart skipped a beat and his skin crawled with gooseflesh. He licked his lips before replying, "Milord, there are millions of civilians down there, not to mention our own troops still on the surface…" A sense of horror crept into his soul.

Malak waved his hand, showing his lack of concern for the admiral's words. The gray, mottled skin of his appendage made Karath's hair stand on end.

_Perhaps the wrong Sith Lord died that day; at least Revan wouldn't slaughter an entire planet for one woman._

"They are not my problem, Admiral," warned Malak in his eerie mechanized voice. "Remember the lesson of Colonel Pfeif. I trust that you will not make the _same_ mistake."

Karath took another step back and fear poked through his military bearing. His eyes grew wide and perspiration beaded on his neck and forehead. "I…I…it will take several hours to reposition the fleet, Milord."

Malak turned abruptly away from his servant. "Then I _suggest_ you begin immediately."

Karath took a few steps backward and then scurried from the platform.

_What happened to us? What happened to our noble cause to reform the weak Republic? We were once the victors…the heroes in defeating the Mandalorians: Bold and brilliant Revan; tall, strong Malak; and I, Admiral of the victorious Fleet._

Like a beaten dog, Karath stopped next to the Communications Officer and slumped over the console. "Inform all ship captains to deploy in equidistant orbit. We will begin bombardment of the planet in four hours."

The Communications Officer looked up, confused. "Sir? Shall I…give targeting coordinates?"

"No, bombard the _entire_ planet."

"Sir, we…still have troops on the surface. The entire Twenty-Third Division is down there. It would take a day to evacuate them."

Karath puffed up his chest and scowled at the young officer, his mood changed with a challenge to his authority. "Follow through with the command, Ensign! It is Lord Malak's will." As the Admiral turned away, his face softened and he added, "Evacuate as many as we can. Do it quickly."

Deep in his heart, Admiral Karath knew what he was doing was evil, but the darkness in his soul prevailed.

"I'm just following orders…" he told himself. "As I always have."

* * *

The Exchange crime lord sat upon his magnificent silver throne amid his most trusted servants. He had a look about him that had not been seen in some years; a new hunt was on.

"A curious man, isn't he?" Davik mused out loud. "He'll serve a criminal empire, but seeks to aid those underprivileged. He'll go out of his way to help those I've marked for death without cause, but will kill a man for looking at him cross. Morality and brutality, a deadly combination."

Canderous smirked as he nodded in mock agreement and Calo grunted obvious disapproval. The crime lord laughed. "The Spartan really showed you up, Nord, but don't hold it against him because you'll be seeing a lot of him around from now on."

"I don't trust him, Davik. Spartans are prone to rather malicious actions against folk of our kind of work," Calo said quietly, thinking briefly upon his tortured childhood. "He doesn't have the experience to stomach the job."

Canderous barked a laugh. "You assume that he hasn't steeled his nerves with all of his years of service? He slaughtered those Rakghouls with the same effort I expend pressing our debtors for their dues."

"The Exchange is more than a petty loan shark operation, Canderous. Some of our more...illicit activities might disagree with him."

"A man that has standards is a man that keeps his nose clean," Davik turned sharply to his bickering minions. "Just because you impressed me by killing that rancor on Tatooine single handed, doesn't give you the right to question me, Calo. As for you Canderous, while your experience has benefited my guardforce, I do _not_ need you patronizing your co-workers or goading me to make a plans for the future of my organization without regard for the consequences they entail." The old crime lord sat back in his silver throne and his sudden anger changed to decision. "Tonight's the night, then. Jack Endar and his retinue will join the exchange."

Canderous smirked in knowing approval. "As you wish, Lord Davik."

* * *

Unbeknown to Davik, the four conspirators would soon be hatching their plan. The mercenary soon left the throne room and made his way to the guest quarters. There, he downed a glass of Taresian Ale as he gazed out of the window at the bright sky. There, he recanted his plan to the gathered force, going through the number of posted guards and combat droids and a detailed layout of the mansion Davik had situated himself. All of these factors were logged into a hologram projector within the guest lounge, after the monitoring cameras had been hacked and set to programmed and looped footage. "Before anything else can be done," Canderous concluded, after an hour's worth of explanation, "we must get the security codes for the _Ebon Hawk_."

Knight nodded, coming off the wall he had been leaning against. "As we've figured. The question is how?"

"Well, Bastila, you could take one for the team tonight at dinner," the Mandolorian offered, insinuating something untoward seducing the notorious criminal.

"That's _not_ an option," the Jedi protested firmly. "I am a Jedi, not a common hussy. I'll not freely give my body away for the sake of escape. _Even_ from Malak and his ilk."

Canderous shrugged, seemingly bored. "Have it your way. Then we must find Hudrow and coax the codes from him. I know where the torture room is, but it's heavily guarded."

"We could fake a tour of the facility's inner workings," Bishop offered. "We are, after all, now working for the Exchange. A proper introduction into the hub of operations on Taris would be the typical first-day requirment, and you tend to com off as a traditional man, Canderous; seeing virtual programs inferior to hands-on experience."

"That could work," Carth saw the Spartan's reasoning. "The torture room's purpose is straight forward, making it the last stop for the day could be a scare tactic to ensure loyalty."

Bastila looked to their commanding officer, who firecely studied the display before the group, mind lost in distant reaches honed by decades of training and application. "What's your take, Commander?"

Knight developed a thinking stance, his chin rested in the crook of his thumb and he began to rub his upper lip with his forefinger. "We're going to be heading for a firefight whatever way I look at it. Stealth is out, too much security and we don't have the planning time needed to graph out the manor properly, normally that wouldn't bother me but I'm hardly dealing with professionals with no hidden agendas," Canderous nodded in admittance, seeing no reason to show reluctance or insult at the Spartan's bluntness. "It's unlikely we can simply stroll into the control room, either; Davik's a criminal mastermind, and a creature of caution at that. If Canderous starts giving tours out of the blue, he's going to catch wind of our plan. Our best choice is a direct strike, hit the security hard and keep moving while they scramble."

"So, how are we _five _to overcome Davik's numerous guards and droids and get to the ship?" asked Bishop, somewhat dismayed by the odds.

"What's wrong, John?" Knight smirked and shoved his friend. "Getting jumpy at the idea of being out numbered?"

"Usually, we've got a platoon at our back to balance the odds," Bishop replied flatly, before his tone became apologetic. "No offense to you guys."

Canderous shook his head, continuing with his plan details. "I know where the security forces are centralized. When we get there, we can even the odds out a bit. Davik is always worried about betrayal and he has ways of putting down a rebellion. If we hack it right, we might just be able to work those measures to _our_ advantage."

Carth frowned. "Well, that could work both ways. What's to stop him from using that against us?"

Canderous smiled, his pride in his warrior past rising to the occasion. "The element of surprise, son. Didn't you fight against us in the Wars? Surely you learned _something_ from the Mandalorians?"

"Yes, I did, which is why the Republic was victorious," answered the man with a bit of an edge.

"Good, then let's get going," said Canderous with a chuckle while Knight and Bishop departed to dawn their armor.

_Moment of truth._ Knight thought, and it was. Weeks' worth of planning and coordination would all come down to play on this pivotal moment. The fate of the Republic - of the entire galaxy - was swaying on the outcome of the next few hours. He checked his weapons to ensure all magazines were full. Several grenades were linked to the shoulder straps of their utility rigs and their Dragons hung limp by their slings. They emerged moments later to the sight of the team readying their own weapons and gear. Carth adjusted the optics on his pistol and then strapped on his body armor.

Then, their attention was diverted to the sound of a large machine powering up. "Ah, the glory of battle again. My heart is filled with the song of war."

"What the heck is that?" asked Carth, staring at the giant hunk of metal in Canderous' arms.

"This, sir, is the Mandalorian Heavy Blaster Mark Five," the mercenary said with immense pride. "In one minute of continuous fire, it fires over twenty-five-hundred bolts of engerized plasma at a velocity enough to turn concrete into sand and dust. This'll put a man down at one hundred meters or more. I _told_ you the odds would be more even." He maneuvered the massive weapon around his body with the ease of a baton.

Knight walked by Canderous and glanced at the tube of meal. "Mighty big gun you have," he hefted the assault rifle for comparison, . "Think it could keep up with this"

"We shall soon discover," Canderous chuckled in anticipation, Knight's mood slightly cheerier than his usual quiet intensity. Bastila's eyes were on the Spartan Marine and she noted this change with a sense of caution. The Jedi seemed to be observing the young-ish Lieutenant Commander closely at every opportunity. There were even times Bastila seemed to fear the more experienced man.

As Canderous played with his toy, Bishop approached Bastila, his expression seemed disturbed and brows were furrowed. "Knight tells me he had another vision. This one about our raid on Revan's flagship."

Bastila nodded, face grim. "Yes, I know, I had the same dream. We will discuss this later, John. It is important."

"Sync timechart," Knight raised his wrist to check his watch, the others doing the same. "Onasi, time on your mark."

Off to the side, Carth looked down at his chronograph. "I have fourteen-thirty hours in three, two, one. _Mark_." On instinct, Knight clicked his watch on the cue to synchronize their timepieces and their actions. After thirty years of special operations, it was second nature.

Now geared up for a fight, the group moved to the door. "Alright, Mandalorian, you've got point. You good for this?"

Canderous took the lead and went through the portal. "For me, there is now no turning back," he said clearly. His heart soared with freedom as he unshackled himself from the crime lord, who had been his master for nearly two years. He would be his own man again, perhaps even a leader of men to seek glory on other fields. He looked back at his new companions; a new sense of ambition gripped him.

_Yes, they are good warriors. We will conquer new worlds and they will serve me well._

The Mandalorian felt a familiar sensation. Though his clans were beaten, he had always harbored the secret desire to shake the pillars of the galaxy once more. Canderous led them down a hall to a broad metal door and staked up along its frame, Canderous and Knight on one side, Bishop, Bastila and Carth on the other. "Beyond here lies the guard post. There will be many droids and men. We must move quickly beyond to the control room. Do not delay," he addressed them as one does subordinates. It was his inclination to command.

Bastila moved forward and pressed herself against the wall, watching as Bishop prepped a grenade while Canderous keyed the door. As the portal shot open, six sentry droids looked over and raised their weapons in unison. With a gentle flick of his wrist, Bishop tossed the ion grenade into the room and then raised his rifle, followed by Knight and Canderous. Canderous pulled the trigger on his hulking blaster, its side panels glowed orange for a millisecond before a huge bolt streaked forth from the muzzle and impacted on a droid. Sparks and smoke flew from the droid's body as it jiggled and shook. Knight took aim at a watchman near an alarm and depressed the trigger for a few seconds, sending the man to the ground with a half-dozen black marks on his tunic. Bishop found his sight on a turret team and with a few rapid squeezes and slight torso jerks they all fell dead.

Then, the grenade detonated, sending ions scattering around the room. Mostly harmless to sentiments, ions played havoc with a droid's sensitive electronics. Two siege droids convulsed in a fit of violent spasms with arcs of electricity shooting from their bodies. Two other droids returned fire with bolts deflecting off of Carth's energy shield. "Time to rumble," the commander yelled, pouring fire into the room.

The far door opened and several Rodians emerged, alerted to the fight. "Canderous?" one said in surprise before the merc obliterated him with a massive bolt.

Bastila stepped into the room and ionic energy swirled around her. She extended her hand and light flew onto the remaining droids. The automatons sparked and sizzled as their electronics fried. "Nice shot, Shan," Knight commented.

"I do what I can," the Jedi replied with a perky wiggle of her head.

"Canderous has betrayed us!" the Rodians cried and they opened fire as they scrambled to deploy. One Rodian prepped a grenade and reached back to throw it. Carth zeroed in on him, dropping the Rodian as the grenade went off with a resounding blast. Several were shredded by shrapnel and screamed as they fell. Seizing the initiative, Knight rushed forward, firing at dazed Rodians with Bastila was right behind him swinging her double-bladed lightsaber.

They charged past confused guards into the security room. The Lieutenant Commander ran up to a console and saw something out of the corner of his eye. A blaster bolt hit him, but was absorbed in a flash of his energy shields. _Damn, I should have been more careful._

He wheeled and fired a rifle bolt into a Rodian crouched behind some tables. The Rodian took the bolt in the face and fell forward in a heap.

Blaster fire could still be heard outside as Bastila and Knight activated the terminal. "Christ, where's Nolan when you need her?" The Spartan groaned to himself, hesitantly pushing buttons. "Oh, I'm in!" It was the nearest thing to pure luck, but no one was arguing.

Carth and Canderous ran into the security room together, Bishop behind them firing from his hip and shouting curses at the waves of security guards. "Close the door! Close the door!" Carth yelled desperately.

The Jedi turned and willed the door shut and the heavy metal flanges slammed closed as bolts splattered around them.

Canderous breathed a sigh of relief. He was exhilarated from the recent fray, but knew that they would easily be overwhelmed. "Okay, we have a bit of time while they regroup. But I assure you, Davik and Nord will be back with the heavy artillery."

Knight nodded absently, not really hearing his words and continued to delve deeper into the system. "Wait…dammit…"

A minute went by, then two. Canderous paced impatiently as Carth and Bishop rigged mines near the doors. Bastila placed a reassuring hand on Knight's shoulder. "You're very resourceful, Jack. Just stay calm." Perspiration beaded at Knight's lip and forehead and he quickly wiped his damp hands on his metallic leggings, eyes dancing across the monitor screen.

Suddenly, a loud explosion was heard outside one of the doors. The solid metal door bowed inward, but held.

"I suggest we make something happen soon," urged Canderous.

"I'm in!" declared Knight in a rush of adrenaline. He scanned through the security cameras and bellowed a mighty laugh. "Davik looks a mite pissed! He's got a lot of guards out there."

Bastila looked over the chuckling Spartan's shoulder. "How many?"

"Ummm…all of them I think," Bishop answered, shaking his head.

The Lieutenant Commander's fingers probed the touch screen rapidly, bringing up a security menu. "Gas! Hahaha! Choke on this," He punched the button and watched as thick mustard-colored gas poured into the hall. Guards gagged and flailed as Davik fled with Calo back down the corridor. "That's right, run away you spineless bastards."

When the last guard collapsed, Canderous pointed to the door. "We must make haste. Davik may try to make for the _Ebon Hawk._"

Reopening the door, the team rushed into the hall where Bastila looked side to side, her auburn hair twisting around her face. "Canderous, take the Commander and find the pilot. You _must_ get those codes. We'll try and cut Davik off."

The big merc nodded with mild disappointment. _At least I can lead the Spartan. It's a start,_ he thought with a bit of humor.

The two teams sprinted off in different directions. Canderous pointed them around several turns as they continued to run. "The…the torture room is in…this area," Canderous said, panting. Despite his iron constitution, he was no longer young. The run had winded him. In contrast, Knight stood as if he had been lounging all day, his breathing barely above normal. The big Spartan moved ahead of him and then stopped, listening.

"Guards up ahead are coming this way."

"Tell me you shut off the cameras."

"Don't worry, _Mando'rahn_," Knight commented, feeling a little proud of his computer skill. "They're blind."

Canderous nodded, huffing. He knelt and prepared a grenade. With a wink, he rolled it down the hall into a surprised mass of brutes. Knight slid into cover as the detonation rocked the walls. Peering around the wall, he aimed his rifle into the shocked group. Several guards were down and others were crawling about. The Commander flicked the selector to full auto fire and pressed the trigger. Flashes of energy sliced through the smoky air, searing into a guard.

Canderous moved to his left and unleashed one of his massive bolts. It encompassed the entire body of a guard, crackling and sizzling. The Trandosian screamed as he fell burning to the floor.

From out of the smoke, a bolt flew and struck Canderous just below the neck. His armor sizzled and he fell over backward with a grunt. Knight glanced over to see the giant merc hit the floor. The remaining guards saw the big man fall and gained heart. "He's down! Now…forward!"

They came on, running over the bodies of the fallen, mad with rage. Knight pulled the rifle in tight and launched a burst into their ranks. Multiple bolts of energy streaked into armored bodies and two men cried out as they crumpled forward. Then, they were on him. His mouth curved into a sardonic smirk as he reloaded.

He inhaled deeply, and slowly turned his head until a corner of his eye peaked out of cover at the onrushing men, hate in their eyes; they began to slow in Knight's view. It was as if time was coming to a stop. For a moment he waited before stepping out and hammered the rifle's stock into the first thug's face, a sickening sound of crunching bone welcomed him as the thug's skull was crushed.

The remaining six of Davik's enforcers faced Knight as he stood alone. _Six to one. I've had better_. He raised his rifle to take aim and fire.

Knight turned the weapon and fired into the second man's chin, his thoughts faded into the background as the first thug fell backward in slow motion, blood drops flying from his nose and mouth. He then spun, releasing the weapon and dodging a sword thrust from the third. The fourth man swung at his legs, but Knight leapt over his attack, drawing his knife. With a fluid overhead stroke, he sliced the fifth thug across the chest, cutting through bone and cartilage and rendering his ability to easily draw breath all-but-useless. He staggered back as his clothes reddened with blood. After a moment, he collapsed and tried to crawl away.

The three left standing dropped back and reassessed the situation.

"Well, c'mon," Knight barked. "You want a shot at the title?"

With a shout, they rushed forward. Using a wide, sweeping parry, Knight brushed aside all three weapons and spun his knife toward one man's throat. His eyes registered fear for a second until the point of the weapon plunged deep into his neck. Seeing a brief opening, the other two men grasped Knight with bare hands, determined to overpower him. With howls of rage, they slammed him against the wall. The impact rattled the off-guard Spartan's teeth and pushed the wind from him, he struggled weakly.

Suddenly, a shot rang out and one thug fell. Knight and the last man looked over to see Canderous fall back to the floor, blaster in hand, panting heavily.

Seizing the moment, Knight sent his knee into the enforcer's gut and spun his knife in his hand before sending the tip through the bottom of his jaw and out through the top of his head.

The man's eyes twitched for a moment, and Knight twisted the blade with a tilt of his wrist and the man's body jerked while Knight simultaneously withdrew his knife and pressed the palm of his free hand into the side of the dead man's head and forced it into the ornate wall with such a force that the sculpted metal bent and formed around its shape. With a labored grunt, Knight rushed over to the fallen merc.

"Canderous, are you okay?" Knight pulled a hyper syringe out of his medpac and injected a dose.

Despite his injuries, he laughed, coughing up blood. "Damn, no wonder we lost the war. You Spartans are pretty damned tough. Don't worry about me; I've got a few aces up my sleeve." He staggered to his knees and Knight could see the wound knitting before his eyes.

"What the hell...?"

"Cybernetic implant, boost regeneration ability and speed."

The Marine grunted in wonder. "Doesn't explain why you're sorry ass is still on the floor," he said, helping the big man to his feet.

He wiped the blood from his lips. "It'll be a few minutes more. Hurry, the torture room is over there. Go on, I'll catch up." He pushed Knight away and pointed to a door down the hall.

Reluctantly, he ran ahead, sheathing his blade and picking up the rifle from its sling. At the door, he held his breath and hit the locking mechanism. The door shot open and he took careful aim at a floating droid. The trigger was pressed and a burst of bolts rocketed into the body of the spider like torture bot. It sizzled and shook, but spun, looking for a target. Before it could zero in, Knight fired another bolt and several of its sinister-looking legs flew off with smoke and sparks. In retaliation, the droid fired two bolts, striking the wall. Knight ducked into the room behind a desk and took a breath as chucks of wall sprayed around him, striking his shields but causing little damage. At a three count, he popped up and fired a burst. Two bolts hammered the droid and it fell like a brick on the ground.

As the battered droid lay in smoking ruin, Knight took a moment to reload and confirm the kill while Canderous gingerly entered behind him. In a cage a naked man hung by his wrists, bloody and bruised. He looked up slowly. "C…C…Canderous…help…me."

Knight swiftly opened a security console and began screening the commands, and before long opened the cage. Canderous helped the man out and onto the floor; he was in bad shape.

The merc gave him a dose from the medpac. "Hudrow, we're getting out of here. I need the security code for the _Hawk._"

Hudrow reached up with his bloody hand and grasped Canderous' sleeve. "You take me with you. Promise me and I'll give you the code."

Knight knelt down and put a sheet over his shivering body. "We'll take you. I swear it, but we're not going anywhere without those codes, and you're the only one who knows them."

The battered man looked into Knight's hard white eyes. His fear and panic subsided and he nodded. "Okay, okay...the password is Twisted Rancor."

"The metal band?" asked Knight with doubtful expression aimed at Canderous.

The Mandalorian shrugged. "Hey, Davik sponsored them, he likes them, what can I say?"

* * *

On the bridge of his time-proven ship, Commodore Hroom watched as the Sith bombarded the planet of Taris with ion cannon fire, destroying everything that stood in their way. Minutes prior he and his group of three cruisers, four frigates and one carrier finished positioning themselves in a formation that would bring the attention of the Sith away from the planet and towards the threat of ultimate destruction. He wondered what a Republic naval officer might think if it was their navy that had come ready to rescue a group of stranded commandoes. Would they blindly rush in to avenge the deaths of billions in a haze of rage or would they control their feelings instead of the opposite? The Commodore shook his head and turned to his communications officer. "Ensign, give the word to the squadron to open fire."

The woman nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Also," Hroom added. "Open a link to Commander Knight. I'm sure he'd like to know his old team is ready and waiting."

Hroom turned to an attractive young woman he had called from the barracks. Her keep green eyes scanned the scene before her with a firmly clenched jaw and Hroom privately tried to recall if he had ever had a similar expression. "Executive Commander Nolan," his interruption of her thoughts snapped her gaze to his. "Get the Hammers ready, you're out in fifteen."

* * *

Canderous' healing properties were remarkable, Knight noted, and within a few minutes, he was walking normally. With the armored Spartan taking the lead, the merc helped Hudrow down the hall. Canderous pointed ahead. "The hangar is this way. We should hurry." There was urgency in his voice that gripped them.

As if on cue, the ground began to shake. Knight stopped. He paused for a moment before the floor shook again. "What's that, an earthquake?" Canderous asked as Knight's face took on a concerned expression.

Hudrow shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know…there hasn't been an earthquake on Taris in over a thousand years." Explosions could now be heard dimly as if far away.

Knight's face immediately turned to terror and he cursed, taking off into a deadpan sprint down the hall with Canderous and Hudrow trying to keep up.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"The Sith are bombarding the planet!" Knight called over his shoulder before keying his COM. "Bishop, you and the others at the hanger?"

"Copy, sir," the As they turned the corner, Carth and Bastila were at the hangar door, trying to open it. Canderous picked Hudrow up in his arms and rushed him to the door. "Open it!" he commanded.

The weak pilot punched in a code and the door split apart with a hiss. Smoke was flowing up from some small fires and a couple of beams had fallen from the ceiling. The whole place was shaking now.

Inside the hangar, Davik Kang wailed at Calo. "The damn Sith, what are they doing? They'll bring the whole place down around us! Are they insane?"

"Very insane," answered Carth matter-of-factly.

Davik wheeled in their direction, taking cover as Calo did the same. "So, Bastila," Davik seethed, baring his teeth, "you were an assassin after all and you, Canderous, you broke my heart."

Canderous smirked. His contempt for his employer was now spilling over and he would make it no secret here. "Davik, you have no heart, no lust for glory, no sense of anything beyond money and power," he said with contempt. The Mandalorian's chest filled with pride as he sought battle once more; to fight and kill the enemy…that was all a warrior could need.

Davik motioned to Calo as the walls began to buckle. "Gaah, kill them and let's get outta here!"

Calo smiled his vacant, sadistic smile. His fingers twitched with anticipation. "I've been waiting a long time for this." He poked up over some rubble and fired with both of his blaster pistols, bolts shrieking from the muzzles. Knight and Bishop opened fire and took the brunt of the rabid shots while the rest of the team scrambled for cover, Carth threw a grenade has he slid behind a container. It fell short, but obscured the bounty hunter's aim with its blast.

Unafraid, Canderous stepped forward and aimed his massive weapon at Davik. The crime lord grimaced, but shot the big Mandalorian twice with his blaster pistol. As the bolts sizzled on his armor, Canderous merely grunted and fired his weapon in return. The bolt burst upon Davik's chest, showering him in energy particles and fire. Davik's armor bore the brunt of the blast, but he staggered back several steps. His gray hair smoked and he howled in pain.

From the left flank, Bastila charged forward, her sun-colored energy blades flashing in a wide arc. As she ran forward, Calo unleashed a flow of automatic fire at her. The Jedi turned slightly and deflected several shots with her weapon, using the defensive Soresu Form. However, the flow of fire was too much and two bolts sizzled into her shoulder, flipping her to the ground.

As Calo grinned in satisfaction, he turned back to see Knight leaping over the rubble pile directly in front of him. His eyebrows rose quickly and his jaw fell open in shock. Knight's boot then connected with Nord's face with a sickening crunch as the small man yowled in a spray of blood as he fell backwards.

After taking a moment to balance him, the Lieutenant Commander rushed to Bastila and helped the Jedi back up and together they charged Davik. The crime lord shook his head to refocus and brought his blaster back up. He pumped out a point blank shot into Knight's chest and dissipated harmlessly into his shields, Bastila clove his blaster in two.

Davik stepped back and whipped out a short sword for self defense; he would not go down without a fight.

Then, the hangar rocked with a blast and a beam fell, startling the opponents. "You can't win, Davik," Knight said from behind the beam, a white aiming laser lingered on the crime lord's torso, just below his heart. "Surrender and we'll take you with us."

"Fat chance, Jack." Davik rushed around the beam, sword held high. Knight's rifle barked and struck the man in his side as Bastila raised her lightsaber to defend them. The crime lord gasped, dropping his sword to the ground with a clatter, Knight's fist planted firmly in Kang's face and the mob boss crumpled to the ground.

As the group took a collective breath, Calo climbed on the pile of rubble and waved dramatically. "If I go down, we all go down!" he wailed. "I have this thermite detonator and I'm gonna blow us all sky high."

Canderous turned and took aim at the bounty hunter, but another explosion rocked the hangar. Beams fell throughout the area, crashing and splintering boxes. Canderous dodged to the side as one beam plummeted toward him. Calo laughed, but his glee was cut short. "Aaaargh!" he cried as a mass of the ceiling came down on him.

As the explosions rocked and tore Davik's Estate, Carth and Hudrow entered the code into the security panel with shaking fingers. The purple rods went dark and Carth rushed aboard the _Ebon Hawk_, with Hudrow right on his tail. Canderous slung Davik's body over his shoulder with a grunt and moved to board.

Another blast lit up the hanger and Knight fell to his knees. His expression went blank and he froze. Deep within the reaches of his mind he was seeing explosions...feeling a terrible crushing...smelling the acrid odor of burning electronics. Somewhere, another time, another place, he was trapped on a ship by explosions.

Knight's form arched in a painful roar and fell forward onto the floor. As debris fell about, Bastila grabbed one of the hulking Spartan's arms and began to pull him to the boarding ramp. Bishop appeared on his opposite side and looped his vacant arm over his shoulder and they managed to drag him to the growling corvette.

Bishop rolled the man into a sitting position and rested his head against a mesh wall. "Knight," he said, before slapping his superior officer. "Knight! Snap out of it, Marine!"

Shaking his head for a moment, Knight looked around where he was and after a moment started to his feet. Bishop extended a hand that was accepted. "I'm okay, thanks. I don't know what happened," he said breathlessly. His white eyes were wild and confused. Carth powered up the engines. The ramp retracted and the _Ebon Hawk _lurched off of the ground with steam hissing in all directions. Debris pounded the hull as Carth fought to maneuver the ship out of the hanger.

"Hang on, here we go!" he yelled, fighting the controls, the strain evident in his voice. Hudrow powered the lateral thrusters and the ship shot out of the hangar with debris raining down in chunks.

Knight activated his COM. "Mission! Acknowledge!"

"…Jack! Ahhhh… What's hap…? Where are you?" was the panicked reply from the Twi'lek girl.

The Spartan gnawed his lip hard. Every fiber of his being was consumed with worry. "We're coming, kiddo. Just hang on. Over." Knight turned to Carth, seated at the controls. "How fast can you get this thing moving?"

"Little hazy on Union Navy controls, but I'll manage," was the reply. "Why?"

"Think you can get us to Mission and Z?" Carth nodded as Bishop slid into the navigator's seat.

"Alright, coordinates: Vector One-Five-Five for seven kilometers," he stated after looking over the map of the planet. "Altitude five thousand meters."

Carth wordlessly set the heading bug on his HSI to lock in the course. He toggled the controls to the left and the _Hawk _banked sharply, throwing everyone about. "Sorry!" Carth grimaced and then jammed the throttle forward and the ship accelerated rapidly toward Mission. All around the _Ebon _Hawk, towers were shattering in violent explosions, throwing glass and duracrete into the sky. The Sith were raining death from orbit in a desperate attempt to kill Bastila. Carth dodged around several falling spires as he doggedly held course. In a minute, they were at the apartment.

Knight pointed down on the grand avenue. "There! She's there!"

Carth slowed the ship to a hover and lowered the ramp. Knight and Bastila rushed down as the portal hissed open and wind rushed in. Bastila's hair swirled about her face as she extended a hand to Mission, pulling her aboard. Together, they flung a rope down and Zaalbar tied it to T3.

Behind the giant Wookie, Knight saw other familiar faces with flames and smoke closing in behind them. Bastila and Mission hauled the tiny droid inside and then lowered the rope. "C'mon Z! Get aboard!" The Twi'lek girl cried.

The Wookie shook his head and pushed Lyn and Bib Surool up, followed by Matrik. Knight slid down the length of rope to aid the unplanned refugees. The fires were closing in as the ship rocked from nearby explosions, yet Zaalbar continued to pass people up. Next to follow were Ice, then Gerlon, and even Duncan. Finally, Marl made the climb with Knight's assistance and the Wookie grabbed onto the edge of the ramp. Debris hit the _Hawk _and she lurched to the side.

"Everyone's on! Let's go!" screamed Bastila as Canderous roughly grasped the Wookie's arm. The _Hawk _screamed upward with Z hanging on by one arm as Knight grasped the other. The big mercenary and Marine pulled with all their might, but the Wookie was too heavy. Knight focused on Zaalbar and drew something from the depths of his being. A wave, a rush of some unknown power swept through him around Zaalbar and he was lifted into the ship, carrying the two men as he did. After the hanger door shut, Knight fell back onto the interior hull, exhausted as Bastila raised an eyebrow and a dark expression took hold of her. The Jedi was about to do the same thing when the Spartan saved Zaalbar first.

Mission fell upon the big Wookie. "You big dummy. Don't scare me like that!" She wailed, pounding her tiny fists on his chest.

The _Hawk _screamed upward, rapidly accelerating. Carth punched in the Sith code and transmitted it to the entire planet. "_This'll _keep the Sith occupied," he and Bishop chuckled. "They'll have too many targets to shoot at."

Bishop noticed a red flashing signal near the COM array, pressed the line jack and listened for a moment. "Yeah, hang on, Commander, sir; I've got Gadon on the line. He's going to make a run for it."

Knight lifted a shaking hand to his headset. "Patch him through."

"This…Gadon Thek… ank you, Knight, we'll run this block…de… Best of l… we'll see…again…" The signal killed short, and Bishop howled a laugh.

"Knight, you're not going to believe who's on the line here."

_"I might have to object to that statement, Bishop."_ Knight's momentary reclamation of his balance failed when the voice came through the line.

_It couldn't be..._"Ram?"

_"Commander Knight, I sure as hell hope you've got a damned good reason for dragging my ass three parsecs away from a sunny white sand beach."_

That confirmed it. "Commodore, sir, the Sith are bombarding the planet, we are aboard a stolen scout corvette and approaching the outer layers of the planet's atmosphere. We could use a pick-up, sir."

_"Copy that, Commander,"_ the aged officer replied. _"We're launching our own offensive against the Sith and dropping MedEvacs to support survivors and our marines once we reclaim the planet. Unfortunately a Sith carrier is launching Bandits and moving too fast for our Interceptor missiles, if that corvette's combat worthy, I'd appreciate it if you'd take some of the heat off of us."_

Knight nodded immediately. "More than able, sir. This carrier-flagship have a name?"

_"IFF systems tag it as the **Leviathan**."_

"Saul," Carth muttered under his breath, loud enough to draw Bishop's attention.

"Easy, Chief," the Spartan cooed. "Easy."

Soon, the ship broke through the atmosphere. Carth and Bishop scanned the darkness of space for. After a moment, Carth saw something that froze his heart in his chest. "Crap, there's the _Leviathan_. Bad…bad…." Carth said as he swerved the _Hawk _away from the massive warship.

Bastila grabbed the still slumped Commander and brought him to his feet with limited effort. "Commander, you need to get up in the turret! Keep those Sith off of the fleet."

With a nod, Knight managed his way down the corridor and climbed the ladder into the turret as Bishop slide down into the lower booth, Mission following with every step. The Lieutenant Commander leapt into the seat and quickly strapped in as Mission hung onto the back of the chair.

"Carth, bring the Hawk around and pass the hanger again, we'll need to force the blast doors shut and cut off the supply."

Bishop buzzed the COM. "You sure that's a good idea, Knight? Those heavy cannons will slaughter us if we make the wrong move."

"This ship isn't rigged for heavy combat, we'll be slaughtered either way if we don't cut off their supply," Knight charged the guns and they hummed to life. "And as good a shot you are, John, I doubt you'll last long against three scores of fighters coming down on us like the wrath of God."

"I'd managed a few good ones."

Mission giggled. "Snarky bastard, isn't he?"

"You don't know the half of it." The Hawk curved alongside the massive ship somehow without drawing the attention of the AA cannons. Knight scanned the quiet space. "Anyone else have a bad feeling about this?"

_"C'mon Jack, don't jinx us."_ Bishop replied. _"Okay, I can see the side generators for the barrier. Eyes on the top and bottom?"_

Knight rotated the chamber towards a greenish-gray length of pulsating along the ridge of the hanger. "Fire."

Depressing the trigger buttons, the heavy turret guns fired a swath of heavy ion bolt that streaked through the icy blackness of space. The rounds found their marks in a burst of green-blue light. With the energy shields power source the protective barriers keeping the pressurized atmosphere within the ship's hangar gone, the contents of the massive room were violently jolted from where they rested or stood. Craft, crew and personnel alike drifted through the airless vacuum, those unlucky enough to be without any kind of armor or a pressure suit were killed almost instantly.

_"Yeah! That'll show'em!" _Carth cheered. Knight rotated the turret to scan for any kind of counter-act against them. This was by far too easy, he didn't like it. He cursed when he spotted a dozen Sith fighters picked up their trail and roared in hot pursuit. "Contact! Sith fighters at ten-thirty!"

When the fighters opened fire, the _Hawk_ shook with the impact of the shot.

"Here they come! Hang on!" Carth yelled over the intercom as he maneuvered violently to avoid the incoming fighters.

"Carth, keep them on us, those MedEvacs won't stand a chance against that firepower."

"Aye, Commander," Carth replied. The _Hawk_ rolled as bolts flew in her direction, some striking her deflector shields.

"Multiple Bandits, splitting, two groups, six o'clock," called Knight, firing the heavy turbo laser into one Sith. The darkness of space lit up. "Kill bandit! I've got two more at three o'clock, firing!"

The Bandits crossed over the _Hawk_, raking her with fire and disappearing underneath the Spartan corvette. Sparks flew through the cockpit and Hudrow jumped. Bishop followed it for a moment and fired a burs at one, destroying it and another at the second. Some of the rounds hit but didn't strike enough damage to destroy it. Much to his displeasure.

Knight swung his turret around and tore the surrounding space with bolts. Two Sith fighters disappeared in explosions, lighting up the darkness. "Two kills! Three bandits remaining, all quadrants!"

Carth fired the forward cannon as one Sith streaked past and the fighter disintegrated in fragments of sparking debris. "Down ya go!"

The two remaining star fighters split to confound any targeting and then roared back on an attack run. Bishop rotated the turret to face one Sith and hammered out bolts. As the lasers flashed, another Sith vanished under the hail of fire. "Kill Bandit at Eight o'clock. Last Bandit, two o'clock" The Sith's weapons twinkled and laser hits tore along the _Hawk's_ deflectors and outer hull.

"I've lost thrusters and engine power is down! Kill that Sith Bastard!" Carth yelled.

Knight jammed the turret to the right and took a snap shot. Mission squealed, "Die already!" The Sith's attack spar separated in a flash of fire and plasma. It spun wildly as Knight fully depressed the triggers and pumped in a stream of additional shots. The explosion was most satisfying.

"Let's get out of here!" He called to Carth. A deep sigh escaped his lips that curved into a smile at Bishop's howling laughter of victory.

_"Oh, FUCK!"_ Hudrow cried. _"They've locked weapons on us!"_

On the flight deck, Bastila turned to the pilots. "I've set a rendezvous point with the Spartan fleet. Make the jump!"

Carth turned several switches and pushed the throttle forward. "Hyperspace, now!"

The _Ebon Hawk _turned into a point of light as she leapt into hyperspace, escaping the clutches of the Sith.


	13. Chapter XII: Moving the Chains

_**A/N: Things get a whee bit off-track here, fair warning. As this is not an **exact **novelization of the game, I've taken the liberty of making the Hawk a little more classy rather than the stark industrial grates and pipes that are in the game. If I'm to believe that Davik is supposed to be this uber-powerful crime lord, then he'd most definitely retrofit the interior to better suit his ego.  
**_

**_I will admit that the more steamy, "romantic" bits were scribed not of my own hand. They are the result of my dear friend and die-hard Male!PCxBastila fan Melnoma67, who is now penning Miss Shan's dialog and narrating the story parts seen in her perspective (such as the last maybe fifth).  
_**

_**So yeah, that's about it.**__**..oh! AND you get to meet Jackie's siblings here! [And a call out to all you folks trapped in the '80s.]**_

_**(Yeee-yay...?)**_

_**- Leake**_

* * *

_"Observe. Adapt. Overcome."_  
_**- Motto of the 1st Raiders Regiment in Galactic Basic.**_

* * *

**"Moving the Chains"  
August 10th, 1496 AGM - 11:52:23 (STI)  
LTCDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., Tasker Co., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Bridge of Spartan Navy Corvette _Ebon Hawk_, in route to RZ with CMDRE Hroom's flotilla**

"Coming out of hyperspace," Carth Onasi, a Republic Navy officer and pilot, said as he released a heavy sigh. "We should be meeting up with the Spartan fleet in a few moments."

The brief travel time from the edge of Taris' orbital range felt more like years than minutes to the weary crew of the Spartan vessel. After weeks of planning and organizing elaborate strategies and endless fighting they had succeeded in their escape and finally relax their stressed minds, for a while at least. With the adrenaline still pumping through their veins, however, made any kind of attempt to wind down fruitless. Their _de facto_ Spartan leader remained in the seat of the rotary turret, leaned forward and rapidly rubbing his temples to fight the sudden headache that had assaulted him out of nowhere. He felt the pain of Taris, not just of its some-billions of people, but of the _planet_ itself; his new found sensitivity to the Force, he realized, was the culprit. It made the most sense, with so many people plunged into a fear they had never before experienced there was a physical wound in the mysterious omnipresent entity that connected every object, living or not, in the galaxy. He didn't like the aching grip in the root of his being, the feeling that he had lost someone or something so close to him as suddenly as this.

"Jack," Mission Vau, a young Twi'lek computer splicer, said quietly as she peered over the man's shoulder. "Is it over?"

The Spartan grunted. "Yeah, kid," he said, voice hoarse from the dryness of his throat. "It's over, we won."

"Oh." The young woman's head turned slightly, her gaze far away. "It doesn't feel like it."

"This isn't the kind of victory to be proud of," the Spartan admitted sadly, and he was right. How many people had died in their escape? Tens of millions at least, but it was not on the fault of any of them. The scouting ship wouldn't last ten seconds against a Sith battlecruiser, much less against an armada capable of bombing a planet to oblivion. What could they do aside from ensure their own survival? He shook the thoughts from his mind and stood. The ship was eerily silent, the weight of it made the small group of survivors even more on edge than they had been in the heat of the Sith bombardment.

Bastila Shan lingered by the display of the Strategic Information Computer in the center of the CIC, watching a hologram of Taris' destruction. A tilde symbol hovered over the planet with a long series of numbers that rapidly grew, an estimate of the people killed, Knight supposed. He didn't want to watch, but he felt like he had to, remind himself of why he fought in this damned war; why he was a Raider. After a few tense moments, Knight asked, "How many?" Although at first, the Jedi didn't answer, instead consistently studied the image before her.

Her shoulders sagged slightly. "As far as the system can tell, over two-billion in the initial barrage. The Sith have stopped firing momentarily, probably waiting for their weapons to cool," she slammed her fist into the computer's metal base. "We need to get to your people, Commander, we _have_ to save this planet before those bastards destroy it completely."

The Spartan nodded, and moved on to the bridge. "Tell me we're almost there."

His long-time friend and Executive Officer John Bishop nodded, never looking up from the controls. "We've got half a parsec, maybe, before we meet up with them."

"Also, Commander, we've got another transmission coming through," Carth added. "Doesn't look like it's from the flotilla, the IFF readout says the transmission is from multiple sources, but one is Military Command on Sparta. Looks important."

The Lieutenant Commander straightened and cursed under his breath. "Patch it through to the Com Room, Carth."

The Republic pilot nodded. "Right away."

Taking in the whole view of the _Ebon Hawk_, Knight came to realize exactly how old the ship was. When he had first seen the rusted brown and beige exterior from Davik's tour, he had assumed that the crime lord had acquired the ship well before his time, and now that he wasn't concerned with his own survival he took in the sleek military decor designed for aesthetic value and to maintain its purpose. The walls were a warm blue-gray, accented by lights hidden in the trimming that softly illuminated the interior and added a relaxing attitude that hid the craft's purpose. The floor was made of long strips of a dark metal separated by white polymer with softly glowing red lights lining them. The whole feel of the ship was not that of class and luxury, but of soothing calm and relaxation. Scouting ships tended to venture into uncharted, undocumented regions fraught with Eternus-only-knew what kind of creatures pulled straight from Lovecraft's darkest nightmares. It made sense that the ship would have a settling mood and cozy atmosphere to work out the stress. With a shameful shake of his head, Knight thought of a few _other_ ways the former crew could "work out" their stress.

"Focus, Jack. Remember who you're meeting with," he reprimanded his own wayward thinking.

He continued down the hallway and to the door of the communications room, that slid open to reveal a large rectangular conference table with a hologram of the galaxy on display that dominated the majority of the room. The second his foot entered the room's thresh hold, the table began a quick descent into the floor as a grid patterned column of orange light lowered from the ceiling and spread out to encompass the entirety of the room. After a few moments the silhouettes of seven figures digitized in the multi-quantum entanglement array, designed to allow ships lag-free communications with it and a certain number of predetermined outposts even in the deepest fringes of the galaxy. Finally, the images solidified completely and the Lieutenant Commander beheld a sight both reliving and frustrating.

"Hello, Jack," the group of five women - two of which had the four-star-row of a Navy Admiral and Marines General, one a three-star of Vice Admiral and one with an eagle pendant of a Captain - and one man, with the five star cluster of Fleet Admiral, said in relative unison. Knight cursed under his breath and snapped a quick salute to his superior officers. And his siblings, and his father. Upon reconsideration, maybe he would be more comfortable facing the Sith down with this little ship. After all, his family was renowned for such acts of 'heroics' in the face of insurmountable odds.

And the group before him notorious for being able to stare down the mightiest of men until they crawled into a corner, curled into a ball and whimpered for mercy. _Anyone._

"At ease, Jack," his father started almost immediately. "You look tired, son, the Sith give you a good round?"

The Lieutenant Commander scoffed and shook his head. "That's one way to put it."

"That's how I'd put it," his sister with the Captain's eagle rank insignia and the word "DIZZY" tattooed to the knuckles on her hands, retorted and reached for a glass of a pale orange liquid and took a brief sip. "Christ alive, Jackie-Boy, you look like you're barely able to stand."

Jack exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. "It's been a long past couple of weeks, I'm exhausted, Bishop's half-way from passing out in the pilot's seat, and the rest of our makeshift team is in similar array of unease; if not more."

His eldest sister, Arien, the Blue Stallion herself, smiled at her sibling's usual antics of being as blatantly forward as possible. "Just another day at the office for you, isn't it, Jack?"

"More so than I'd like," the Spartan admitted. "Now that we've gotten pleasantries out of the way, why don't we get down to why you've called in on a hijacked Scouter? Surely a debriefing could have waited until _after _we retook Taris and stopped the Sith from blowing it hell-and-gone, and it certainly wouldn't require all of you being present."

Dizzy leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, letting a sly grin pull on the side of her mouth, her green eyes shining with amusement. "What if we all wanted to make sure our baby brother was still in one piece." Knight gave her a look that both spelled out his doubt and called on her bullshit, to which she responded with a snort. "Nothing gets by you does it, Jack?"

"I'd be long dead if I did," the Raider replied in a chuckle with a smirk of his own. "You know I don't like being led around in the dark. Now what's going on?"

His division's commanding officer, General Cassandra Knight, cleared her throat before answering. "The Jedi Council's in uproar at the Union's hijacking of their mission, one that few of the Joint Chiefs were even aware of until you and Commander Bishop were reassigned under Major Hector Veron's unit as per request for Bastila Shan. I don't suppose you have any idea what your objectives were?"

Jack shook his head.

Cass sighed and nodded her head several times, her eyes shifting to another direction. "I thought not. Supposedly, the mission was to intercept the luxury yacht of a high-ranking Sith officer, board it, and capture said officer to interrogate him on the location of the Malak's main base of operations and how the Sith are replenishing their numbers so quickly. The coordinates, time and date of the yacht's location - as I have been told - was discovered by deep-cover Republic espionage agent some months ago."

"This information was proved to be the bait of a trap," Arien continued. "The information was planted by a double agent inside of the Republic intelligence network. His records have been cleaned and all of his activities over the course of his service are being thoroughly investigated by Republic authorities and we have their assurance that it will never happen again."

Jack turned to his father. "You didn't take it well, did you dad?"

Fleet Admiral Michael Knight, the legendary 'Knight of the Union', nodded his wrinkling head once, slowly. "No, I most certainly did _not_. Regardless of the fact that I've lost nearly three infantry battalions worth in trained Raiders to the arrogance of the pompous ass-hats that the Senate has running things, but I intern almost lost _another_ son as consequence."

"You and mom share the knowledge and devices to sire more," Jack said, drawing bemused grunts, snorts and scoffs from his sisters. "Unless of course you've lost your...'touch'."

"I have not so many children that I would willingly see them to their deaths, son. But I'm not saying that I'm not able to _provide_ more of them," the Fleet Admiral smiled wickedly and winked. "At any rate, from this point onward, you're in charge of any operation the Jedi Council or the RMC puts forward. I am _not _going to lose good, hard working Marines just so those corrupted bureaucrats can feel at ease with a scythe hanging over their heads. If the Sith don't kill them, I certainly will."

Jack nodded, recalling all too well the very dire threat his father had made to the Republic so very many years ago, but set it aside to press another more abrupt issue. "I don't think I have that authority, dad."

Michael Knight's brow frowned in surprised intrigue. "Oh?"

"I'm still a Lieutenant," Jack explained. "A Lieutenant _Commander_, yes, but a Lieutenant nonetheless; the Jedi Council and the Senate are aware of our Joint Operations Doctrine, and they _will_ put forth someone greater in the ranks - _our_ ranks - before me to give them back control." The group of officers surrounding him grew large, Cheshire-like smiles that Jack instantly disliked. "Okay, now I _know_ you're hiding something."

"I was hoping to save this until you returned to Union space," his father explained, still smiling. "But with things as they are, I can see that won't be happening anytime soon."

"While certainly the Council or the Senate can declare a _Lieutenant _Commander rank can be surpassed on the grounds of competence and ability," Dizzy continued, "I sincerely doubt that that they'd raise that argument against a barred double-star _Commander_ without serious repercussions."

Jack clicked the pieces together and his features grew wide with the realization. "You're not saying-"

"You're Petition has been filed and approved, Jack," Vice Admiral Adrianna Knight interrupted, for the first time in the meeting of the fiercely close family.

"Your actions throughout your career, Jack, have caught the attention of the Brass and the Emissary " Fleet Admiral Knight went on. "I have made my decision, and they agree implicitly. As of eleven-hundred this morning, you are now _Commander_ Jackson Mathis Knight, and no longer bound to the agreements between us and the Republic concerning the J-O-D or any other agreements we have established to ensure our continued partnership."

"Your skill and knowledge in the methods of warfare, both on and away from the fields of battle, are now considered experienced above and beyond that of most any officer the Republic puts before you, of any rank," Adrianna went on while her father paused for breath. "As consequence, you are hereby authorized to intervene on any military or law enforcement activity you deem worthy of your time."

Arien continued. "Be forewarned, Jack, this is not a duty to take likely. You are a standard bearer of the Spartan Union, and everything we represent. Each step you take shall bring either scrutiny or praise to you and your brothers- and sisters-in-arms. The fates of many men, women and even children now rest upon your shoulders. Do you accept these terms?"

Without hesitation, Jack nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"In that case," General Knight finished, "the Commodore will have your new pins, I suggest you get them from him post haste."

"This is an moment few in our history have had the privilege of participating," Adrianna explained. "Millions of Petition applicants aspire to this moment, and yet only a handful of that number in our entire history have ever reached this stage; at least, not posthumously. Normally, Jack, I would certainly hope that whosoever received this promotion was ready for this, but knowing you, you were ready the moment Lady Emmala guided you into this world."

A smirk formed on Jack's features. It was a habit-formed action bred from years of putting pompous foreign militants in their place with politely orchestrated remarks that teased the line of insubordination at the expense of a well practiced reprimanding from his superiors, who warned the offended officer that if said little counter-operative comment or action was so offensive, then they should consider a different career more suited for those with an ego so titanic that they couldn't take second-opinion-commentary from the men they were _leading_ and not bother them so needlessly again if they valued their position. His family's satisfaction of the moment was evident and, with his recently discovered sensitivity to the Force, tangible. His hand twitched repeatedly and he brought it to his forehead to massage his temple, something that did not go unnoticed by the gathered fleet officers.

"Something wrong, Jack?" Arien asked, somewhat sincerely and jokingly. "Last I checked, the stress of these little meetings of ours didn't give _you_ the headaches."

Fleet Admiral Knight scoffed. "Yeah, that's usually my habit."

"It's something of a recent development," Knight said and his thumb indicated the direction of the bridge with a motion of his arm. "The Jedi we picked up, Bastila Shan, _thinks_ I _may_ be an Adept."

The Naval officers before him dawned a look of surprise. "And she's sure?"

"She's fairly certain, to say the least," Knight shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the palm of his hand into the side of his head. Despite the vast distance between them, the emotions of his family members were well received by his new-found sensitivity to the Force; an ironic fact that brewed in his gut painfully. "If I may ask, could you all take a moment to calm down? The onrush of reactions is giving me a killer migraine."

"It's all very hard to process," Cass replied. "It's rare for our kind to become even moderately susceptible to the effects of the Force and those who do are normally the offspring of a Jedi, but I've never, _ever_, heard of an Adept's powers come into fruition in adulthood."

The newly instated Commander groaned harshly, biting back the pain. "I'm having trouble coming to terms with it my self. For now, let's call a rain-check."

The Fleet Admiral nodded in understanding. "Of course. We'll be in touch soon, _Commander_ Knight. Get some rest while you can, your team will be ready for you soon enough."

Jack nodded. "I take it Fifth Platoon is waiting for me on Hroom's ship?"

"Waiting, ready, and able, Commander," a new voice joined the group, followed by the image of another woman the newly instated Commander knew. "I'm sure they will be utterly thrilled to be under your reins again."

"Hello, Stretch," Jack smiled. "I suppose I'll be seeing you fairly soon, won't I?"

"That will will," the pretty brunette saluted. "Until then, sir."

Her image winked out and Jack turned again to his siblings and father. "Admirals, Captain, General, I'll be forwarding my report of Taris' recapture as soon as I am able. Until then," he saluted, "I have battle to win."

"Godspeed, Commander," Dizzy replied. "Show those Sith bastards how it's done. That's an order."

The images of his family died and _Commander_ Jackson Mathis Knight sighed, turned and departed the briefing room and headed for the bridge, his grin of satisfaction evident on his stubble darkened face. His mind set on retaking the planet of Taris from the clutches of the relentless, ruthless, merciless Sith; and on putting down as many of those mad dog killers as possible. No mercy, no forgiveness. This was their battle, but it would be a Spartan victory.

"Ah, Commander," Bishop hailed. "Just in time, we're just into the RZ point, sir."

"Good work," Knight patted him on his shoulder pauldron and unclasped his pins from his collar and put them in his Executive Officer's unoccupied hand. "_Lieutenant Commander_ Bishop."

The Spartan looked at his hand and back up at his Commanding Officer. "Please, tell me you're not resigning."

"I am, in a matter of speaking," Knight joked. "For now, though, just focus on getting this ship onto the _Dusk_, and consider yourself officially promoted, as per my right as a Commander to recognize a soldier's ability."

The gears in Bishop's skull clicked as he came to the sudden realization that his best friend was smiling broadly. "Oh, shit."

Knight drew a smile that threatened to split open his face. "We'll discuss who's buying at the bar latter. No need to keep the old nut-buster waiting for us."

"Aye aye, Commander Knight," Bishop answered and released a stream of excited laughter, inserting the tattered pins into place on the small slots on the crest of his collar while a bewildered Carth watched the other Spartan depart.

"What the hell just happened?"

"We are now in the presence of a fucking Unicorn, Onasi," Bishop remarked, pulling up the ship-wide intercom while . "Attention, passengers of the _Ebon Hawk_, this is your Captain speaking. We are nearing the hangar bay for the SNV _Highward Dusk_, right now I'd like to ask that you all return to your seats, fasten your safety harnesses and ready your passports."

Passing into the boundary of the Spartan flotilla, the _Ebon Hawk _became a tiny speck against the silhouette of the titanic assault ships from the other side of the Cancius. Sleek and radiant, the dark blued steel vessels shining beautifully in the gentle darkness so far from the system's sun. The ships were unlike anything the Republic citizens had ever seen as they gathered in the bridge to view the mighty titans as they waited for the order to commence the attack against whatever enemy would be bold enough to stand against them.

"They're huge!" Mission exclaimed, her mouth agape in awe. Bishop snickered.

"That your official observation, Miss Vau?"

Carth, of all people rose to her defense with, "She's right, sir. You could fill the entire population of Cargara into one of these things and still have room left over."

Even the stubborn Canderous was perplexed by the number of naval craft waiting for them to arrive before their assault began. "There's only a dozen of them. These things are going out to face damn near half the Sith armada with only two squadrons?"

Knight and Bishop snorted. "Believe it or not, Ordo, _this_ is an excessive number of craft, considering the man in charge pf them all."

Both the Mandalorian and the Republic pilot looked at the two officer's with confused expressions. "How so?"

"Commodore Vicitirous Arletek Hroom is two things,_" _Bishop crooked his elbow and raised his forearm as he piloted, his forefinger extended. "A brilliant strategist," he raised his middle finger, "and an extensive minimalist. If there's a single man in the entire galaxy that could out think an entire congregation of Jedi tacticians, it's him."

Bastila huffed and rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that's a gross exaggeration."

"He trained my sisters, was in the Raiders with my father during the early Aghrast Conflicts, and has lived through every war that's been waged since First Contact, and kept that apeshit bastard Mandalore out of the Abyss for the entirety of the Mandalorian Wars," the newly-promoted Commander Knight informed the stubborn Padawan. "No offense, Ordo."

"None taken," the aging warrior chuckled. "I'm not die hard enough to admit the idiocy of taking on the Union on their home field."

"Smart man," Bishop said as he key the COM line for their target ship. "SNV _Highward Dusk_, this is the Ebon Hawk. Requesting permission to come aboard."

_"Copy, Ebon Hawk. Lowering repulsion fields in docking hanger, dock 5-4-2. Welcome aboard."_

"Okay, Onasi let's guide her in smooth now," Carth muttered to himself as he leveled the flightpath controls on level with the pulse rails projected by the Spartan warship. "Not as hard as it looks."

"Good, because it looks damn near impossible," Ordo remarked with a snide edge to his tone. Bastila turned and started for the barracks, catching the attention of the Commander.

"Tell me when we've docked, Lieutenant. I want the Wraiths briefed and ready in ten minutes."

Bishop nodded without question. "Yessir!"

Bastila managed to make it a few steps into the barracks before she lost whatever remained of her moral stamina and slumped against one of the bunks. "By the Force," she muttered in exhausted, horrified realization as the full weight of the event she witnessed began to press on her. She reached out an arm to brace against the metal frame to steady herself but the limb's strength failed and bounced helplessly off the post, cursing under her breath as her balance shifted and began to fall. She shut her eye to brace for the impact.

An impact, to her wonder, that never came. Instead of a hard crash into the metal floor, she fell into a sort of cradle of two extended metal pillars. "That was close," a deep voice said with a exhale of relief. "You okay, Shan?"

Opening her eyes, Bastila found herself looking at twin pools of dark blue voids that glared into her. They were soft and warm, and endlessly disarming and unsettling. She tore her focus away and took in the image of her new Spartan superior's smirking face that hung over her. The urge to quickly right herself and pretend this little moment never occurred was dwarfed by the sudden overwhelming echoes in the Force that continued to exhaust her.

"I'm fine, Commander, thank you," she said simply, opting for a quick expression of gratitude and moving swiftly out of the Commander's reach. Politely, he helped her back to her feet and aided her in readjusting her balance. After a moment, she made it to one of the comfortable mattress pads and fitted herself into a sitting position. All under the watchful eyes of the Spartan who had saved her; the hard, smoldering, carefully studious, endlessly seductive, indigo eyes.

"Alright, I should be fine for the remainder of our stay, thank you for your...assistance, Commander."

"You're welcome, Miss Shan," Knight replied pleasantly, before a wide tooth smile split his face open. "I'm always ready to aid a woman in need."

"Quite," the Jedi rolled her eyes. Knight grunted in bemusement as the intercom beeped on.

_"Commander, we're docked. Ram's on the bridge waiting for us, best we not keep the old man waiting."_

"Alright Bishop, proceed. I'll be along shortly."

_"Aye, Commander."_

Knight turned to make his leave. "Get some rest, Shan, you've earned it."

The Jedi offered a resigned nod before letting her eyes flutter closed and drifted into a deep sleep.

* * *

_**As I reach for my fire extinguisher, let me explain that this HAS been plotted out and has been smoothed over by me and my editor and a very, VERY conservatist Star Wars fan who has asked to remain nameless.**_

_**And really, guys, c'mon, nobody who is willingly rolling with the whole 'Spartan scouting corvette' alter-plot device go unnoticed and the ship remain with the drabby, depressingly Alien-esque interior of the ship. You may all flame my editor on this, as it was HIS idea...however, t**__**he blatant hijacking of the Normandy SR-2's Com Room was my decision, as I couldn't think of anything that would work design-wise for a briefing area that wasn't absolutely ridiculous or similar in all-but-name, military tech usually doesn't change unless it must, so there's my reasoning (Basically: if it ain't broke, don't fix it).**_

_**And now that I'm onto the next chapter, I'm debating whether or not I should explore the story of our friend Griff and his girlfriend. Food for thought...**_


	14. Chapter XIII: Stars and Bar

**_A/N: More [smushy] OC goodness! For the first part at any rate. Sorry for the lateness (word?) of the update, but I stumbled across a rather challenging plot element with the Dantooine segment of the game. The question that came up was "How can I justly roam about a planet struck in its own warring occupation, and FILLED with reclusive guardians of the Light, and have an entire unit of some the deadliest sonsabitches (IN SPACE!) with a whole regiment of grunts at their disposal and NOT do ANYTHING about it for sake of continuing with the official story of the game and appeasing the nay-saying whiny-asses that randomly spout "Your OCs are all Mary-Sues/This is not Earth why are there Spartans?" instead of living by the MST3K Mantra short of deleting the story and starting somewhere else?"_**

**_Answer: "Tangent."_**

**_Therefore, the Dantooine portion of the story will be a tad more lengthy than anticipated and a #$%ton more action-oriented._**

**_Also, the official KOTOR version of the Spartan Timeline is finished (FINALLY) and ready to view._**

**_That is all._**

_—_**_Leake_**

* * *

**"Stars and Bar"**  
**August 10th, 1496 AGM - 11:52:23 (STI)  
CMGYSGT Gage "Shifty" Stratton  
5th Pln., Tasker Co., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
Unit Quarters, Infantry Barracks Deck, SNV****_Highward Dusk_**

* * *

Leaning against the meter-thick glass of the observation bay's window, Gage Stratton gazed out into the cold darkness of space at the ever-continuing proton storms that ravaged the surface of the massive gas giant the command ship used to mask its presence to the Sith fleet some hundred-million miles from the planet of Taris. The ominous purple-gray clouds tumbled and rolled in an endlessly vicious wake, at the complete mercy of the ultra gale-force winds that stirred them as furiously as a whisk churning butter.

In many ways, they reminded him of his home planet, Scyrion. A colony planet off the shoulder of the Larechanus Abyss, Scyrion was unique for two factors First, it was a life sustaining planet that was less than one quarter of a standardized Astronomical Unit for its sun, Boelsteg, a relatively small star in the Proxicomira Cluster. Second, because of this extremely close proximity, the heat caused from Boelstag's nuclear activity gave Scyrion a temperature scale of two extremes.

By day, the harsh sunlight boiled the upper layers of the vast seas; by night, the same layers snap froze in the exposure to the cold vacuum of space. The most "charming", as many meteorologists put it, was an ever-lasting lightning storm that ravaged the relatively thin temperate area where the hot and cold air clashed.

Gage's mother had been stationed on the planet's migrant capitol city of Katrina, assigned to the position of Assistant Head Researcher with a team of about two-hundred tasked to study the planet's curious existence, along with a few hundred-thousand other scientists and their families spread throughout the colony. Initially they were tasked with producing means to protect future planetary development projects from the ravenous maelstrom and stumbled upon a means to power everycity on the planet with the storms electrical output.

From his room in the quaint apartment his mother had been granted, he would trace various images with his mind out of the smoky-yellow clouds when he wasn't up to all kinds of mischief with his school friends. A chuckled escaped him when he thought back to all the frustration and grief he had caused his family with his antics, and the ensuing punishments they wrought.

Much of his boyhood prior to his conscription was spent watching those clouds roll, everlasting in their majestic fury and power over the contained environment of the floating metropolis. The rest of the time he spent with his friends and the hells that they raised with the skill and ease of professionals. Most of which he still kept in touch with, for the most part, while others sent him vid-mails or called now-and-then. For a few, he was sad to learn, had perished during training or was killed during the past six conflicts and the two wars, this one included, which had occurred since those days. Death was inevitable in the profession of his race; Gage did nothing to hide that fact from himself or anyone else. He had no qualms with it either, Gage was a soldier, through and through, but he wasn't so cold hearted that he didn't mourn their loss.

"Killing some downtime?" Gage turned to the sound of a woman's voice interrupting his steady thoughts and discovers Karen Holland, the Steel Gauntlets platoon's armor chief and lead demolition expert, coming through the doorway of the immense room, her sidearm bouncing in the holster on her hip with each step. "Hey, Dutch," Gage answered. "Something like that; was just thinking about our new orders, and how he's going to take the news."

"'He'?" The hardened dark haired woman asked, strolling up beside him with a quizzical expression on her freckled face, before realization hit her and she made a corresponding expression. "Ooooh, _him_. I wouldn't worry about it, Shifty, Jack's adaptive, he'll understand."

Gage grunted, a hoarse sound that resounded softly in the quiet almost-darkness of the room, turning his attention back to its original subject. "This was his fight first, Karen. You know how he hates leaving things unfinished."

Karen wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her cheek on the exposed skin of his shoulder. "Things are different now, Gage, he's a Vanguard now."

"I know, kiddo," Gage sighed, the resignation in his voice more evident than he would have liked. "But it still feels like we're betraying our oath."

Karen gave a bemused grunt. "'To defend the innocent and strike down the wicked, regardless the field of battle on which you stand'?"

Gage nodded. "I'm not fond of retreating when there's still work to be done."

"We're not retreating, Gage. We're trading one warzone for another, one that is more desperate for our aid than the other."

Gage rubbed his brow with the thumb and forefinger of his dominant hand. "I know, Dutch, it's just...I don't know, I guess I'm worried."

"Worried about what? Jack?"

"That was a mighty large ball dropped into our court, you have to admit it. There's a lot that's going to change here, command-wise."

Karen grunted her amused disagreement. "He's being promoted and becoming a Force-wielder, hon, I don't think there's too much to worry about."

Gage turned in her loose hold and brought her arms up and around his neck before placing is hands on her hips and pulling her against him, tilting his head down so their foreheads touched. "Are you being sincere, right now? Awfully widen break in character, my dear, I'm in a bit of internal conflict. Do I take your word as is, or at arm's length to make sure you don't have some nasty little prank in store?"

His lover giggled in the back of her throat as a slow smile spread across her features, her eyes hooded. "I can be serious every once in a while, oh-mighty-sergeant. If you have so many doubts as to my _ulterior_ motives, can I offer a way to dissuade them?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Gage murmured, lowering his lips onto hers.

_"Attention," _the intercom boomed, filled with the unmistakable voice of Commandant Anna-Loise Serran. _"All crew members of the SNV Carlson Edson report to airlock seven-three-five-two-zero-zero in fifteen minutes. We are set to depart for Dantooine at 1300 hours; anyone stationed aboard that is not _**_will _**_be left behind. That is all."_

"Aaaagh! Shit!" Karen cursed, the two soldiers untangling each other and began a rapid jog towards the tram station. "That woman is purposely trying to kill my libido, I swear it."

Gage chuckled. "I'm sure Stretch's recent cock-blocking of her fellow gender is entirely coincidental."

"Easy for you to say. I'm going on an eight month dry spell, Gage." The rowdy Spartan woman huffed at his retort, much to his amusement, as they slid into the tram cart and selected their destination. With a sly grin he brought her back into his arms and cradled her against him, and lowered his mouth close to her ear.

"Well, excuse me, Sergeant Major, I don't recall there being any vice against us continuing our little encounter," he muttered with devilish intent lacing his every word. "Maybe in my office?"

Karen turned her towards him, her eyes fiery with intrigue. "I certainly hope, Gage Stratton, that you're not suggesting that you lure your subordinate into your quarters in an attempt to seduce her."

Gage breathed a laugh. "And if I am?"

Karen turned her head up to face him, muttering, "Then I hope you can pull it off." against his lips before pressing hers against them in a deep, electric kiss.

* * *

"He's certainly taking his sweet time, isn't he?" Recently-instated Lieutenant Commander John Dilian Bishop hissed, pacing the hallway outside of the office of Commodore Victirus Hroom, the fearlessleader of the 506th Battalion of the 1st Raider's Regiment. "A whole world is being put to the sword and he's in there making a courtesy call to his significant other. I mean...What the _hell_!"

Jack Knight, newly promoted to Commander, Bishop's commanding officer and oldest, best friend chuckled from his seat a few feet away. "And you've _never_ done that before, have you, John?"

"There are times and places for 'checking-in' on the kids at home," the irritated Marine argued. "During a planned counter assault on a hostile naval fleet _bombarding _the surface of a planet inhabited by _billions_ of men, women and children _is not. The right. _**_ONE_**_."_

"Uh-huh," Knight offered a skeptical nod. "And what about that - and I quote - 'Emergency Tactical Transmission' you were hung up on for an hour and a half back on Karforn, you know the when the Neo-Crusaders were blitzkrieging the planet's major cities?"

"That doesn't count!" Bishop snapped.

"A_hem_," Hroom's assistant, a pretty red head with a rosy complexion named Kilford, softly coughed to catch their attention. "The Commodore will see you, now, Commanders. If you'd follow me."

The two Raiders nodded as the woman lead them through the office sector of the flagship, past the system managers tending to monitors relaying newly formed data from the Information Relay Center on the Command Deck to be processed into reports and filed off for review. Knight nudged Bishop.

"Any of his remind you of anything, John?"

Bishop didn't pause for thought when he replied with a deadpanned, "The reason why we have secretaries so we don't have to stress over shit like this?"

Knight chuckled. "Well played, you snarky bastard."

After a few moments, Yeoman Kilford approached a door with the Hroom's full name and title printed onto the surface.

"I'm amazed they managed to fit all of that onto _one_ bar," Bishop murmured to Knight, just under his breath. The Commander playfully elbowed him.

"Here we are," Kilford said, turning to them with a small, pleasant grin. "Have a nice day, sirs."

Knight and Bishop nodded wordlessly, the latter tapping the call button while the former nervously cradled his helmet. Knight regarded his Second with moderate amusement, a smirk pulling at his cheek. "No need to be scared of him, John."

Bishop scoffed. "Yeah, you're right, Jack. There's absolutely no need to be afraid of the man who killed a dozen people after just finishing his mid-day tea with little else but a faulty fragmentary grenade, a stick and a near-empty MEU pistol whilst chewing out some poor son of a bitch who crashed the jeep he was in into a brick wall."

With a suppressed laugh, Knight patted his long time friend on his shoulder pauldron. "It could have happened to anyone, John. Turfiin isn't what I'd call a 'stable' colonial interest."

Bishop groaned in submission. "Still freaked me the hell out."

A soft _click_ resonated from the door shortly before it hissed open. From where they stood, the two Marines could see that the room had changed little since their last visit. Hroom's desk sat off-center of the room, facing the doorway; two wire framed chairs faced it, obviously not meant for comfort or convenience of the guests. Standing a few strides from a large projector in the room's center, Commodore Victirus Alterek Hroom watched a hologram display of the Sith's destroying of Taris.

"Thirty years ago, Jack, if you would have told me that the fate of an entire planet rested in my hands I would have said that it was just another day on the job for a wrinkly old navy geezer like me," Commodore Victirus Hroom began, not looking over at the two officers as they entered. "But I suppose this instance is more than that, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, yes," Knight agreed. Hroom sighed and beckoned them to follow, to which the Raiders did.

"I recall a time, not so long ago, when I watched my own company's commanding officer pressed pins like these to your father's collar after he had received the notice that his Petition had passed its final stage, and the ceremony held to mark the occasion. Granted, the given situation was a mite more lax and your father had a wicked smug look on his face" Hroom went on, grabbing a small black jewelry box from the edge of his desk and pulling out two pins with a pair of silvery stars stacked atop each other, with a thin bar of equal color resting beneath the bottom star, the rank insignia of a full-blooded Commander, and placed them in Knight's open hand.

Knight held the pins in his palm and moved them around with a few prods of his thumb. Upon further inspection, the metal was in fact polished platinum, symbolizing the rarity of the recipient of the rank bearer, a fact both awe inspiring and nerve racking.

"Unfortunately, Jack, public ceremonies are a luxury we can ill-afford at the moment." Hroom gave a humorous wink at two of his best officers. "Much to your relief, I'm sure."

"Aside from the fact that I do _not_ want to having to prepare and give the damned speech that I've barked for the past thirty-odd years, there's a war to be fought, sir," Knight began, a grin of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth, "and I absolutely _hate_ being away from a fight."

"Just like his father," Bishop added. Hroom chuckled a moment before his features soured into the stern expression of authority he usually held.

"I'm afraid that will have to be the case for now, Jack."

Knight arched his brow in confusion. "Sir?"

Hroom cursed under his breath and shook his head. "The Jedi Council has caught wind of your recent..._talent_ and has demanded that you be brought to Dantooine for evaluation."

The amount of dumbfounded surprise written in the look that suddenly formed on Knight's features was tangible with its intensity. The only word that escaped from his mouth was a flat, "What."

Hroom grunted. "My thoughts exactly."

Bishop raised his hand at the crook of his elbow. "Real quick, those robed ass-hats realize that there are plenty of well trained and proper Vanguards well within pissing distance in any which direction you'd care to do so. Why would the Walkers of the Brown Cloth care where and when Knight receives training?"

The fleet officer could only offer an irritated shake of his head and a tired shrug with his hands on his hips. "They say that, considering Jack's age, it is not likely his Force abilities will be as gradually introduced into the physically body, as those of a fledgling Spartan Vanguard. They fear that the Force's power might violently thrust upon him and therefore may become...'volatilely unstable' as they termed it."

Knight gathered his thoughts and after a moment asked, "What the hell breed of insane logic is that?"

"They're Jedi, Commander, they don't like taking unnecessary risks," Hromm reasoned. "Just be glad your father's the one who delivered the news."

"Why should I?"

Hroom smiled broadly. "_He_ can get away with playing Skin the Cat on the Council; you can't, _yet_."

Knight clenched his jaw and growled before relaxing the boiling wrath that was tightening his muscles with an exasperated sight. "Fine. Where are we headed?"

"Dantooine," Hroom replied. The planet in question appeared on the holo display. "As I said, it's a pleasant terrestrial world of grasslands, rivers and lakes located in the Raioballo sub-sector of the Outer Rim at an endpoint of Myto's Arrow, in the Obtrexta sector."

Bishop shook his head. "Never heard of it."

"Not surprising, Dantooine isn't known for being a marketable tourist hotspot like Manaan or Alderaan or Coruscant. Its charm lies in its anonymity, so our agents have explained; there's a relatively lucrative port business blooming from the capitol region, though our intelligence operatives have considered it to be far removed from most galactic traffic."

Knight took in the view of the green-blue orb as it rotated on the calculated display. "Relevance to the Order?"

"For the past few decades, it's been the home of the Jedi Enclave, a secret training facility built by Master Vodo-Siosk Baas sometime before the Mandalorian Wars." Hroom continued, a series of images taken from the planet's surface blipping into view with a motion of his hand, "It's a sparsely populated planet, mostly Human farmers of varying social class and primitive near-Human sentients called Dantari, local wildlife include kinrath, kath hounds, iriaz, and the graul."

"Sounds like a rather odd place to drop a full Raider platoon and a regiment of Marines, sir," Bishop observed. "I'm guessing there's some kind of complication?"

Hroom offered a content smirk, before an overhead landscape view of an obliterated township appeared before them in full display. Ion fires billowed black smog into the green sky as ashes danced across the cameras' screens, civilians fled from the ruined buildings on foot or in speeders. Many fleeing didn't reach very far before scarlet slips of lights cut them down violently or long sheets of flame consumed them. The speeders never made their escape out of ten meters from the outer boundaries before a series of explosions spread on the video surveillance and remained as pox mark scars to the surrounding area; streamline reeds of blue light indicated the flight path of plasma missiles and rockets while those that seemed to abruptly appear in a bloom of propelled dirt and rock and sod were likely mines hidden under a thin cover. Whether they were remotely triggered or proximity was impossible to tell.

Those few organized, brave or stupid enough who tried to fight were gunned down were they stood, those men and women who surrendered were bound, gagged and executed. An unfortunate number had the additional humiliation of rape added to their attackers' retinue as the video shamelessly showed three armored men executing a gathering of people in a large pit with automatic weapons firing with abandon. Another group of similarly clad characters were going door to door, or building to building in some cases, and breaching through to shoot up the hiding populous that hadn't been caught or looting assorted shops of their goods.

Bishop's features soured as he watched the scene play out, his breath released in a sharp hiss. "Janna's breath, what in the _fuck_ is this?"

"Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders," Hroom replied flatly. "About three standard months ago a score of clan remnants dropped down on Dantooine's southern hemisphere looking for easy prey and have remained since, rounding up regions of the planet and claiming them as feudal domains, with their leaders as warlords."

"Relatively speaking, no doubt," Knight remarked, still transfixed on the happenings on the screen. "I'm sure that these 'warlords' have thinned since first arrival?"

Hroom chuckled. "Considerably. You know how the _Mando'rahn _operate, Commander. Of the original twenty-some groups, only a handful remains: The Ward clan, the Ves clan, the Keshyr clan, the Kelnorb clan, and finally the Cepp and Geldabei clans who have allied themselves through a series of political marriages."

Bishop grunted. "I didn't realize _barabariags_ had the intelligence needed to understand a science as complex as politics."

"We are not so different from each other, John," Knight reasoned, briefly turning away from the video as a pair of APTs buzzed into the down square. "I take it there are a few good apples in the spoiled bunch, yes?"

Hroom nodded. "Of them, the former supplied us with this video taken about three weeks ago, acquired via a UAV weather drone's security monitors. They were impressed by our ability to maintain the Abyss, and wondered if a few of our off-duty vets would like a chance to give the vilest of the _Mando'ade_ a friendly reminder of why the Union is their better."

Bishop snorted. "Carth is gonna _love_ this."

"We'll meet them with our irons in our hands, and our blades in their bellies," Knight replied.

"Very good," Hroom concluded with a nod. "Commanders, get back to the _Ebon Hawk_ and brief your crew. Knight, I want you to meet up with Dutch and Twitchy aboard the _Edson_ as soon as you can. There are some new toys the WSC's registered as ready for combat testing. I think you'll be impressed with they have."

Knight and Bishop swiftly saluted the Commodore before they shook the officer's outstretched hand.

"Good luck out there, sir," Knight said. "Give'em hell."

"Gladly," Hroom replied, and brought up a com to the bridge as the men left. "Captain, position the fleet and have them ready for the counter-offensive, let's show these Sith how it's done. We jump as soon as the _Ebon Hawk_ and the _Carlson _depart."

_"Aye sir."_

* * *

"We're doing _what_?" Carth shouted after the two Raiders had finished the briefing of their reassignment. Knight, leaning against the projector table with his arms crossed over his chest, regarded the Republic pilot with a firm look of understanding.

"The Jedi are concerned that I might be a walking armed nuke. Can't say I agree with them, can't say I don't; but right now getting my Adept registration squared away takes priority. We're going to the Jedi Enclave."

"And what, just abandon Taris?"

_"An entire flotilla is taking Taris back as we speak, Captain,"_ the projection of Commandant Anna-Louise Serran assured the elder man in her smooth, calming voice. _"I promise you, Commodore Hroom _**_will _**_stop that bombardment."_

Carth's anger didn't deteriorate, regardless. "This is bullshit."

Bishop shrugged. "Such is the life of a Marine, Carth."

"Jeez," Carth buried the heel of his palm into the bridge of his nose. "So, now what, we just go Mando hunting?"

Canderos huffed. "_Dar'manda_, Onasi. I'd hardly count these _hut'uunla dikuts_ as worthy children of Mandolore any longer."

_"Ahm nair, Ordo'rahn,"_ Knight commented in agreement.

Bastila leaned against the projector. "Regardless of what is happening among the planet's general population, we cannot forget our actual reasons for being on Dantooine in the first place. We _must _ascertain Commander Knight's condition as swiftly as possible. Given the unique co-existence with the Force that some Spartans possess it is impossible to say exactly how stable his new found relationship is."

Knight nodded. "We're all wound up from these last few weeks. Some relative lax in action should help us prepare for whatever the next step against Malak and his war might be. That being said, we should be dropping into the Raioballo sub-sector in two hours, Spartan standard time; until then I expect you all do get washed up and start familiarizing yourselves with the local fauna and flora as well as the geology. We are officially on planetary defense now, people, and we are going to have to _act_ like it."

"Our official cover is military support for the besieged planet," Bishop explained, reading their orders from the data pad his held in his hand that they had received minutes ago. "Jack and I will play out as the leaders of the Raider force dispatched to the Enclave region of the planet to lend our support with Bastila as our affiliate to the Jedi Order. Carth and Canderous, you two will be our strategic advisers for Republic military doctrine and Mandalorian combat tactics, respectively. You'll be working closely with Major General Anton Aldebje and Captain Bennett Abruton aboard the _Spirit_-class warship _Blue Concord _as they oversee the operations with the Fifth Marines during our stay."

The second image on the podium, a middle aged man in a trimmed green dress Colonial Marines uniform and the two stars on his collar hailed him as the man in question. _"It's an honor, gentlemen,"_ the dark skinned Spartan replied with enthusiastic nodding. _"It will be quite the experience to work with two of the finest soldiers the Galaxy has to offer."_

Bishop continued, "The Raider Task Force codename is 'Trident', and includes the entirety of Tasker Company, the allied Mandalorian clans, and the destroyer _SNV Carlson Edson_. Trident will be working semi-cooperatively with General Aldebje and his ground teams as well as the _Concord_'s fighter squadrons when needed; we'll meet up with Captain Aburton once we hit planet side."

"Until we have a decent idea of what our counter-strike operations are going to be like I don't want _anyone_ venturing beyond the Enclave's boarders, for _any_ reason." Knight scanned over the group, carefully meeting their looks of disinterest, approval, dismay, and in Carth's case, disgust. "Clear?"

There was a mixed bag of acknowledgments that otherwise confirmed his order. He turned to Bishop and asked, "Does it have anything on the Jedi I'm supposed to meet with?"

"A handful of the senior members of the Enclave Jedi Council, though it doesn't give their names."

"Probably for security purposes," Bastila interjected. "The Jedi Enclave is largely unknown to the galactic community, and is a dire secret kept from the Sith forces. If the postings of the Jedi Masters are traced carefully enough, it could jeopardize one of the few...'aces' the Republic has up their sleeves, as your expression goes."

"Alright," Knight glanced at his watch. "Two hours, Marines, get loaded and locked."


	15. Section Intermission

_A/N: Something fun the $#!+'s and giggles, and to segue into the next arc of my Old Republic gambit. For the total three [dozen/score] of you that get this little alpha-numera joke, congrats and simmer in the knowledge that you either devoid of anything resembling a stable social life and play **way** too many videogames, or you are a genius and work/should be working for the CIA._

_With that out of the way, please don't harass me too much, guys. I am attempting to bring something new to an old game (**Incerdebly Lame Pun**) here, and I've put in a lot of effort. And my editor, too, but not as much. Stay tuned, and be ready for more!_

_- Leake_

* * *

**SECT. 1 - 2 INTERMISSION**

**REPORT Callsign: "MAVERICK"  
CODE RECIEVED 03.25.1490  
A=1 KA-12 /1963.11.22  
'UTORAK' 09[NOVEM]2010  
****  
****APHRODITE 17.1961, OCTO 16.1963, NOVEM 10.1963  
NOVEM 17.1963, LANUARIUS/WULF-MONATH 21.1963, FEBRU 2.1968  
FEBRUUM 9.1968, OCT 29.1945, FEBRUA 9.1968  
****  
AGT/ ****[R]Van SIN 459-63-07719  
**

12 9 5

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1

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2 5 3 1 21 19 5

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1 12 12

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9 19

23 18 15 14 7

* * *

_A/N Edit 8/20/2011: The all-too-epic _TRANSLATION (Cuz I can and I iz awesum):  
**A LIE IS A LIE. (break) JUST BECAUSE IT IS WRITTEN DOWN AND CALLED "HISTORY" DOESN'T MAKE IT TRUE. (break) ALL THAT WE HAVE COME TO KNOW WAS ALLOWED TO BE KNOWN. (break) WE LIVE IN A TIME WERE EVERYTHING WE HAVE BEEN TAUGHT IS WRONG.  
**_The random rambles of a madman, a controversial author's sad attempt at plot thickening, or the shape of a nightmare yet to be? Perhaps one, perhaps all. Rest assured, more will come, and they **will** make you **squirm**._


	16. Section 2 Prologue: Patrol

_A/N: More of the religious aspect of the Union is explored here. Maybe **explored** isn't the right word, but it's the best I could come up with. Don't worry, I'm not cramming anything down your throats belief wise, it's just a look at the religious practices of an OC race._

_- Leake_

* * *

**"Patrol"**  
**October 26th, 1496 AGM - 06:34:26 STI**  
**CMDR Jack Knight**  
**Trident Five**  
**Eidart Grasslands, Dantooine**

**=][=**

The column of Leopard Light Off-road Multipurpose Utility Vehicles passed along the caravan road that linked the isolated farming settlement of Icira and the port city of Camar met no resistance beside the usual bloated swamp or dilapidated bridge over a sinkhole as they made their weekly rounds, canvassing the bogs and marshes under the bloody tyranny of the Keshyr Clan. A rampant, fanatical Mandolorians who survived the Wars nearly a decade prior. Each of the ten OMUVs held three-man fireteam units of the Trident task force's fifth platoon, assembled by the Spartan Union from the ten platoons of Tasker Company of the 1st Raiders Regiment. The abnormality of a special activities unit taking on a shift usually assigned to an infantry platoon did not go unnoticed by the thirty members of the unit, as one heavy weapons expert expressed to their commanding officer.

"Commander, correct me if I'm wrong, but we are supposed to be striking against Matt instead of doing Grunt work?"

"Helps with the cover, Treech," Commander Knight replied. "Matt's going to think something's up if all we do is sit around at base."

Before the mouthy Scotian could retort, Knight clicked the radio and beeped to signal ready for access. "All Trident Five Leopards, maintain speed and dispersion; two meters. Mission is to patrol the farms and villas in Eidart grasslands, all Kim-Mathews are considered hostile."

Bishop's voice cut in after the quick briefing. _"Trident Five-One, this is Trident Five-Two, a lot of these old manors lead into the marshes. Kim might try and duck out of the fight, advise?"_

"Orders are to report locations and sighting but do not engaged unless fired upon first." Knight replied, itching at a collection of dirt on the corner of his mouth. "Let Eroj's troupe handle it. Command's worried about them."

_"Copy that, Rooster."_ Knight click the relay into standby, leaving it open for any further reports. An uneventful five kilometers pass as the column made it's rounds, moving along huge farm tracks and large corporate manors, along cliffside vistas of the Indigo Peak mountains to the distant north and before stopping at an isolated township to refuel.

Rory's Bluff was a collection of small farmsteads, small-scale manufacturers, banks, and a grouping of hovels — at least the upper-class equivalent to a hovel, any one of the large two-story homes would likely fit two of the companies attached to Trident's task force comfortably, at most. Knight shook his head as the past the residential dwellings and entered into the market district near the town's southern entrance and exit. Two fuel stations, a handful of restaurants and diners, and a sports outlet made up the area where the Leopards rumbled to a halt; Trident Five's six-Marine squads pilling out to establish a perimeter. Knight's squad, Trident Five-One, pulled out furthest from the station the column had pulled up to, being the lead vehicle and most fuel used had consumed the most gas and would take longer to filled compared to the other five in the group. Five-One was composed of himself and five others: Helga "Sparky" Gagarin, his squad sergeant and Tech Specialist, offered a hand to the mute Michael "Squints" Edson, the squad's designated marksman and the best sharpshooter in the platoon, next to Bishop, as he climbed down for the gunner's position. The lippy Marine who held the title of heavy weapons and support operator, James Martin Treech, tossed a rifle into the waiting arm of the squad corpsman, Toshida Takari, who adjusted a mobile defibrillator on her pack and stood up.

"Hey, Damage, you planning on joining us?" Knight called to the absent Geoffrey Lopar, the demolitions specialist inside of Sparky's Leopard.

_"Yeah, gimme a sec, sir,"_ was the response. _"Somehow I got my foot stuck in the gap between the seats and I'm working it out."_

Knight shook his head. "Alright. Trident-Five fan out and check perimeter. Squints, you and Hog get on the roof of that station and provide over watch," Knight pointed to the indicated direction. "Gage, you and Dutch go and handle the clerks."

_"Why is it we have to do it?_"

Knight shrugged after a moment of consideration. "You're the smoothest talkers?"

_"Riiight..."_

"Shut up and do it, Karen," Knight shook his head after an amused snort.

_"Copy."_ Despite the overwhelming sense of displacement, Knight was at peace within the backwater feel of the settlement. The pairing of architecture and wilderness was oddly pleasant, granted most the "wilderness" was various kinds of grain, vegetables and other forms of farm flora against a relatively bland backdrop of near endless hills and grass plains. Still, it was pretty to look at; a welcomed reprieve from the arrays of antennas, field offices, barracks, and other military use greyscale structures of the the Navy had been so generous in setting up.

Idly, he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as it trailed down from his scalp. The sun was barely over the crest of the horizon and already the heat was getting up, it must have climbed eighteen degrees in the past forty-five minutes. He was glad the 12th Marine Expeditionary Force quartermaster offered the leftover combat fatigues they'd been issued, he didn't think he could take bussing around in full gun-metal blue armor, hell, he'd roast like a Christmas turkey; aside from that, the fatigues added a clandestine element to their arsenal. In all likelihood, the warring Mandalorian clans wouldn't mind attacking a modestly armed troupe of light infantry composed of sixty Spartan Marines; however, a full combat-ready Raider platoon would k and discourage any activity in the region of any kind for an indefinite amount of time, which would severely anger his superiors.

His com-line clicked and Shifty radioed an update. _"Commander, clerks cleared the trans-act, we're cleared for the top-off."_

"Copy, Gage," he waved to the drivers and they lined up the Leopards to the pumps. "Okay, Marines, let's fuel up and roll out. We have a schedule to keep to."

The drivers honked their acknowledgment and maneuvered into position. _"Commander, Squints has eyes on a convoy from the north. Looks like Cohn's bunch."_

_"Goomer!"_ Bishop exclaimed, laughing. Knight pulled a pair of binoculars and brought them to his eyes. _"What's that crazy bastard up to? I thought he was working with the First Cavalry boys, 'trolling the mountains for holdouts. What's he doing out here?"_

"Guess we're going to find out," Knight remarked, tucking the viewing instruments into their designated pouch on the utility belt that circled his waist before lifting his rifle up by the rearward barrel assembly joint, waving down the oncoming line of vehicles and declaring friendly intent. The lead Leopard veered of and stopped next to him as the rear and passenger door opened.

"Jack," Knight paused at the sight of a Rawn, a tall humanoid reptilian race native of the Cancius before the Spartan Fleets' arrival to the galaxy some fifteen-hundred years ago, stepping out of shotgun said with a smile and an outreached hand. "Or should I salute,_Commander_?"

"Major Kimsal Cohn," Knight openly laughed. It was not an uncommon occurrence, seeing an alien with Raiders patches on his dress blues or fatigues, all races who lined under the Union's banner were welcomed to join the military. But considering the fatality rate the Spartans had instilled to keep their enormous birth rate in check, few did. "Good to see you still fill your boots, Goomer. What're you doing so far from your route?"

"HQ got a report that a Mando raiding party was spotted coming this direction," the Major pointed in a direction ahead of him. "We where on standby so I scrambled my unit and we made like bandits down here. Only to find you and yours fueling up. Funny thing, that."

"We live in…interesting times," the woman behind him remarked, regarding the Commander and then glanced back towards his platoon. "Lieutenant Serra Taborn, I'm the Major's communications coordinator with Squadron 6. I picked up the message myself."

_"Jack, Shifty's got something on the drone and motion trackers indicate something's coming this way, can't identify for certain. We'll keep a pin on it."_ Knight nodded. "And you're certain the target was for this town specifically."

Major Cohn nodded. "Grid 23-by-76, three-eighty degrees southwest, Rory's Bluff. Serra's checked the coordinates five times in the past ten miles."

"I'm nothing if not efficient, Major," the navy woman remarked, much to Knight's amusement.

The Major offered his own bellow. "To say the least. If you don't mind, I'm heading to the Admin's building to set up a defensive strategy if this place is hit."

Knight offered a nod of dismissal. "As you were, Major. I wouldn't want to get in your way."

"Sir," Major Cohn snapped a quick salute and jogged back to the waiting Leopard. Lieutenant Taborn was not as hurried to resume their business, however, and lingered a moment with the Commander.

"If I may, sir. We could certainly use your man power in the event we're hit. If the vids are hold any truth, things are going to get brutal."

Knight glanced back to his unit. "I don't see why not. We've got some time until the cars drink their fill. Could use to get a bit of blood moving," out of habit, Knight brought his hand to his ear. "Bishop, you hitch up with Goomer's team and get the scopes set up for support."

_"Way ahead of you, Jack. You heard him, Marines. Fall out and set up."_

"Dutch, grab your bunch and rig roadway approaches to blow. If Kim hits, they'll be driving through here with armored speeders and hov-tanks. Doc, get a med station set up for triage care," Knight waited for the affirmations to reside before he turned to Treech, who had toted out a large, mean looking machine gun from the back of the Leopard. The burly heavy weapons operator smiled wide and obnoxiously, raising his brows rapidly.

"Want I should set up, sir?"

"Like I'm going to stop you?" Knight grunted. Giving a parody of a salute, Treech jotted away to position himself. "Trident Actual, this is Trident Five. Trident Four acquired and waiting on imminent Mandalorian assault, break. We are positioning for counter measures and repel, requesting air support ASAP, over."

_"Copy Five,"_ the radio operator at the Forward Mobile Operations Base replied. _"Nighthawk squadrons are scrambling and should be on your location within ten minutes, five Cobras are practicing formations north of your position, break. Rerouting their flight path for support trajectory. Cobra lead is call-sign 'Dempsey-zero-two'. Over."_

"Copy, HQ. Ping me once Nighthawks are two minutes out, break," Knight hoped over a low-standing wall and into the shelter of a vacant café "Trident will remain until Mandalorian threat has been neutralized or is otherwise relieved. Going COMs dark, Knight out."

_"Affirmative."_

**=][=**

"Loker, grab your gear and get set for takeoff. Captain's scrambling the squadron for a support run."

Flight Lieutenant Davis Loker sighed and tabbed the page of the magazine he was vigorously enjoying during a moment of lax in protocol, stuffing it in the space between his bunk and the barracks wall. "Yeah, yeah. I'm comin' I'm comin'."

For the past few days since the _Blue Concord_ had taken up residence over Vatsuc, a port city a few klicks from the "secret" Jedi Enclave that half the planet seemed to know about, there'd been a strict regimen of patrols, simulations, scrambling, and other high-alert type exercises pressed upon the twenty-odd members of Halberd squadron that left no time for them to wind down and work the knots out of their joints. Sixteen hours ago they were relieved of active duty and the lucky lads and ladies of Swordfish were put through the paces, freeing the sleep deprived pilots for a promised two-week rest for the rotations to get back to them. A promise that was broken on the morning of their first day on leave while most of their number where out in the city blowing their pay on any sort of off-duty activities provided by the populace. Loker had bypassed the offer to go shore side in the hopes of working out the cramp his steering hand had developed, but now that he was zipping into his jumpsuit he was sorely regretting it.

Climbing out of the bunk room, he nearly collided with Jensen, one of Halberd's Junior Grade Lieutenants, who nimbly ducked to the side in time to avoid a forehead to the midsection. "Hey, Slappy, how's it going?"

"Up until Mick told me we're on call, pretty well." Loker replied. "Any idea of what's going on that's got Cap's tights in in a bunch?"

Jensen shrugged. "Haven't the slightest, pal."

"Fantastic," Loker, tall and lanky, shook his head with a sigh.

A hundred-strong pilots and gunners of the relieved squadrons that had remained aboard the _Blue Concord_ rumbled into the ship's briefing room, hunting down seats and filling the available space quickly. The room was designed to accommodate nearly a thousand men, so the collection of navy men and women had no trouble getting the seats they wanted. Soldiers milled about as they took their seats, the buzz of conversation filling the room as everyone speculated on why they had been so suddenly brought up. So thick were they in conversing that none of them noticed the Daisian Guard squad that lined up outside of the auxiliary entrance until one of them shouted.

"Squadrons! Atten-_shun_!"

Every soldier shot to his or her feet as the voice echoed across the room. Captain Bennett Abruton entered the room, followed by his aides, and nodded to the troops as he passed.

"At ease," the bulky, dark-skinned officer called, and the troops returned to their chairs. Abruton took up a position at the center of the briefing room, behind a metal podium. A large hologram buzzed into display from the projection table in front of him, as well as on the monitors on the front most desks where ranking officers would be seated under more traditional circumstances.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Aburton called, his deep voice booming across the chamber as he spoke. "I apologize for the short notice on this call-up, as I know most of you were off-duty. This is going to be short and quick, as we don't have the time, need or intel for a detailed brief." He tapped something on the podium, and the hologram in front of him shimmered and zoomed to a map of the planet's western hemisphere.

"Twenty minutes ago, a recon buoy picked up a large, unidentified land-based anomaly moving across grid 22 along the marshlands," the Captain paused as the image captured by the buoy appeared on the display in the form of clustered orange arrow. "The buoy's AI bounced IFF signals off of the 'anomaly' to determine its nature. The response was neutral, but the coding was of known Mandalorian run times, if a bit dated. Best as the AI can figure, the mass is crossing the civilian roads and headed _here_, to a medium-sized farming township of Rory's Bluff. Two platoons from Task Force Trident have landed and are preparing to repel an assault should this 'anomaly' turn into a Mando war band looking to cook up a rumble. The officers on the ground have erred on the safe side and called for air support, though the fight shouldn't be too thick."

It made sense to Loker; it was doubtful that the fifteen different squadrons would be needed for simple striking, but having them all briefed and armed for takeoff would increase reinforcements should things escalate. One of the squadron leads raised a hand. "Ordinance suggestions, Skipper?"

"Standard payloads. Guns, missiles, bombs; keep an eye open for walker tanks and counter-armor droids. Otherwise, make sure Matt doesn't swarm Trident's weak flanks. Anything else?"

Loker raised his hand. "Captain, isn't calling in a full air team for a support role is a little unusual? One of the AC-380s could hit them just as hard as any two of us can. I mean, Matt's a stubborn bastard of a nail, but I doubt he needs a sledgehammer to drive him home."

A few of the gathered pilots let out a low or suppressed laugh, and Captain Aburton himself offered an amused smile. "The closest Spooky's in Antarboro being refitted and refueled from incursions, Lieutenant, and should be ready for redeploy in a good hour's worth. But Trident wants and likely _needs_ close-air-support at its soonest. We've all seen the vids and the aftermath of the warring clans' raids. The Vacuromar's looking to us to deliver a mighty retribution for these crimes. And we _will_ deliver. Ooyah?"

"Ooyah!" The pilots replied, though few in number, the roar still shook the briefing room. Captain Aburton nodded.

"Dismissed."

**=][=**

Keen eyes down a pair of binoculars, Knight tried in vain to spot the raiding party heading towards their position from Rory's Bluff's communications towers, their vague silhouettes taunting his efforts as they bled together and steered apart. While he knew the Mandalorian assault force was out beyond sight, Knight did not enjoy waiting for the punch he knew was coming.

"What's your figure?" Knight handed the viewing instruments to Bishop, who accepted them.

"I figure anywhere from two-to-three-dozen craft," Knight sighed and rubbed his eyes with the thumb and fingers of his off hand. "But that's my best guess. If they're kicking up that much shit, there's a number of them, or there's only a handful of them and they have their turbines pointed at the ground to psyche us out."

Bishop nodded, taking his superior's observations in. "So, either we're screwed, or we're fucked?"

"Until we get air support that can break that up," Knight pointed to the debris cloud, "and scatter the bastards out so we can isolate and pick'em off, we are eight different kinds of fucked."

"Think we should make an offering to Xandth or Cardrico? Have some of the fog of war cleared away or one of the bigger speeders crash?"

Knight shook his head. "I doubt they'd take it. There's a bigger war going on that needs their attention."

Bishop gave a pointed look. "I was joking, Jack."

"Oh," Knight's stoic expression turned into one of embarrassed realization. "_Oh!_ Right, sorry, mind's in another place at the moment."

"The odds that bad?"

"No worse than usual, pal," Knight gave him an affectionate smack on the back. "Someting is bothering me, though. Canderous and Carth said that Mandalorians strike hardest when in fewer numbers, and that they warp the perception of their opponents."

Bishop nodded after a moment. "Yeah, they go all Sun Tzu on them. Front a main force to hit hard up front and then send in a small strike team to cut them to ribbons."

"Something along those lines. Nothing we can do now but—"

_"Rooster, sweepers are picking up scattered activity east of the main hall."_

"—wait," Knight finished and dawned a knowing grin. "Copy, Hog, what's it look like?"

_"Fifteen to twenty mobiles, quick moving to several vantage hideouts. I'm guessing light infantry, waiting for the big guns to soften us up before they send the knife up our ribs. From the looks of the monitor, they're just finishing up."_

Knight brought the binoculars up again, studying the advancing vehicle column that had since halted advancement. "_Hirahs_, okay. Trident, fall back and prepare for artillery strikes. Wait for my go to count-_urk!_"

Knight was slammed against the coms tower, his shields drained and an alarm wailing that they were nearly depleted. Dazed he barely registered the sudden onslaught of blaster fire that engulfed the catwalk and spread out into the town plaza.

Instinct and trained reflex took the place of logic and reason as Knight forced air into his lungs. The bolt round had been dispersed across his shields, but at the cost of their protection for the immediate time being. Until they had a chance to recover, a second round would surely kill him. He had to get to safe cover, out of the line of the open line of fire where he could formulate a counter strategy. First off, he decided, getting back on his feet was paramount.

"Jack!" Bishop yelled, swinging around and bringing up his Diamondback, firing at the direction the shot had come from. The rifle's stock pressed tightly against his shoulder to offer stability, Bishop reached down and grabbed the nylon strap of Knight's curiass, rearing him about so he could easily move him down the tower's rampart. "All Trident units, Rooster is down, I repeat, Rooster is down! Force fire away from the comm tower!"

_"Solid copy, LC."_ Nolan's voice cut through the chatter of blaster fire seconds before a hail of rounds fired from their defending lines caused a noticeable shift in the storm of scarlet that threatened to burn the two Raiders black as coal._ "Goomer's boys are loopin' around for ya. Get somewhere low and stay out of si— BY THE SHRYKE! What is **that**?"_

A great blur struck into the plaza's heart, scattering parked vehicles and townsfolk caught in the midst of the firefight. Debris and dirt billowed as four great red eyes cut through the smog the impact had created. Amid the chaos of horrified screams, the snap and whizz of weapons fire and the thud of explosives pock-marking the township was heard a warcry that Bishop hadn't heard in nearly a decade. A electro-mechanical roar buzzed from the heart of the cloud, and a metal leg twice again the size of the Spartan Marine reached out and crushed one of the Major's Leopards as it's gunner fired heavy bolts at it, killing him instantly beneath it's great weight.

The messy sight rocked Bishop to his bones, and his jaw went slack in terrifying awe. Below his breath, he bumbled the creature's terrible name before it's snout-mounted cannons charged for firing. Not hearing what he said, the confused XO of Trident five asked him to repeat.

Snapped out of his lax state, Bishop made off the rampart with new found vigor and vitality just as the war droid fired a pulse-wave and blew the tower out of existence. As he made off to the fragile safety of a near by building, he yelled agian the one word that broke past the ringing that filled his mind:

"Basilisk!"


	17. Chapter XIV: Settling In

_**A/N:** I'd thought I would explore some of Bishop's softer side and some technical fluff regarding Spartan Force users, as I've been assailed by emails and PMs regarding them. __Also, sorry for the delay, I had many lore contradictions that I had to cross-reference and it took longer than I had anticipated._

_And yes, I am a fan of the Stones._

_- Leake  
_

* * *

_"This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.  
My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.  
My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will...  
My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, or the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...  
My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...  
Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.  
So be it, until victory is ours and there is no enemy, but peace!"  
_**— The Rifleman's Creed**

_"Bringing civility and keeping the peace through superior firepower."  
_**— Joke slogan of the Department of Military Technologies Research Projects and Development.**

* * *

**"Settling In"  
August 11th, 1496 AGM - 13:59:45 (STI)  
CMDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln.,Tasker Co., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders****  
****Captain's Quarters, _Ebon Hawk_**

Pulling the cork out with his teeth, aided by a swift yank, Knight began to fill his scotch glass with the honey-colored liquor he had selected from the cabinet on the opposite end of his room in the Captain's Quarters as he cleaned his armor for the first time in nearly month. Not a task he was particularly thrilled for, but one that was necessary. As it was covered in mud, grime, and several types of bodily fluids, he was far from what was expected from a disciplined Raider. Especially a Commander.

His dark eyes betrayed the utter feeling of exhaustion that he had been suppressing since he and his crew had made the jump to hyper space from the Taris system, leaving its namesake planet to the relentless Sith bombardment that had undoubtedly consumed vast millions of the planet's tens-of-billions populace. Though his mission **—** the location and rescue of the Jedi Bastila Shan, and evacuation from Sith-occupied Taris **—** was indeed a success, the crushing grip of failure and defeat clogged the furthest part of his mind. At times like this, he had discovered, it was best to keep himself occupied, keep his thought process moving. To that end, he got to work on cosmetics for his suit.

He released a tired sigh and took a small sip of the malted liquor, spraying a helping of cleaner onto a thick layer of dried mud and began scrubbing away with the carbon-titanium wool scrubbing pad he had recently peeled off of a sponge he found among the maintenance supplies in their designated closet on the recently reacquired corvette he had now placed taken command of. Said corvette removed from the custody — if that was the word for it — of Davik Kang, one of the most elite members of galaxy spanning crime ring known only as the Exchange, who was tied and gagged in the ship's cargo hold making all sorts of racket swearing demands and threatening all kinds of muffled promises of pain and displeasure. The Commander had instructed Canderous to keep an eye on the dethroned crime lord, but not to keep his tolerance of the obnoxious buffoon's antics any high than normal. Knight had allowed the Mandalorian to sock the arrogant prick in any point on his person that wouldn't cause grievous bodily harm. An act that was well received with the mercenary; not so much with Kang.

He sang along to the some-centuries-old song that he had playing on his terminal under his breath as he worked. It was a catchy tune written in the mid-twentieth century of the Spartan's originator world, dealing with the then-common nuclear war paranoia that ravaged society at the time. Some have hailed it as the ultimate example of the times, captured near-perfectly in four-and-a-half minutes; Knight liked it because of the guitar work.

Blowing at a bit of clay that had refused to be wiped away from the shin section of the plating he was now scrubbing, all the while humming the last few lines of the song to himself as the door to his cabin was knocked on. "Pause," he said, immediately halting the playlist he had going. "Come in."

"Sorry to bother you during your rehearsal, Mr. Jagger," Bishop declared upon entering, carrying a thick red folder with the words "ABOVE TOP SECRET" stamped onto the front in dark red ink. "Figured you'd like a look-see at what the techs at SysCom have been cooking up."

Knight grabbed the folder out of his friend's out-stretched arm, flipping through it and skipping past the prefaces and forwards and preambles of project history, warnings about likely hazards and cautions about the unfinished concept models and theoretical risks and standard red inked classification stamps that he had seen tens of dozens of times before. The first notice was on newly designed weapons systems that were being pushed through, which caught his attention was that the technology behind them was slightly out dated.

By almost _twenty-five-hundred-years_ at least. "Interesting course their taking with our new guns. Any figure why?"

"Coupled with the billing report I printed those out from, it's a good thirty pages long, so I'll give you the short version: An AI on the tech-designer's team, named Mattock, was crunching telemetry numbers and had an interesting thought while he was reviewing the results. He implied that we may be overlooking older, proven technologies in an effort to provide with the state of art and suggested that we could manufacture a greater quantity of these accelerated projectile systems and maintain the same type of effectiveness that our guns have now, disperse it across the _entire military_ and keep within budget."

Knight thought a moment. "More guns, better quality, same price, essentially?"

Bishop nodded, a mildly ecstatic grin plastered to his face. "Exactly!"

"Huh," Knight observed, reading through prototyping design courses and preliminary testing in 'preferred' conditions. "I'm not one for badmouthing the guys that keep me alive, but if an AI criticizes you for loving high-tech, I suppose it should probably be considered; looking at these results, I'd say it was worth it. Thirty-two percent increase in stopping power, tripled stationary and mobile precision and accuracy, and a thirteen percent decrease in heat production and recoil? I'd like to get my hands on one of those and take it for a few rounds in the simulator."

Bishop grunted his agreement. "You should see the ones we're going to be testing out. Latest models with all the newest gismos and features," he paged through to the offending devices, giddier than a small child on Christmas Eve. "These things have hyper-intelligent smart targeting modules that calculate and compensate for minute barrel movements, weather, and the environment; couple _that_ with a frame that never breaks fifteen-kilos, segmented rails, several stock variants and barrel lengths, pulsar amplified scram rails that strengthens the SRBs' energy field to increase the velocity of each fired shot, and tungsten sabots wrapped in phasic envelopes to increase penetration, and these beasts are one step down from automatic grenade rifles."

"You may want to wipe off the drool that's cascading down your face," Knight gestured to his face, around the area of his chin. "It looks a bit unprofessional."

_"Shush, I'm having fun,"_ Bishop snipped in their native tongue, his expression feigning irritation. "In all seriousness, these things look amazing! And these are just the assault rifles! The whole freaking arsenal is being anted up!"

Knight nodded absently, carefully clearing a bit of metal shrapnel from his helmet's visor.

"Also, the Derpartment's being renamed," Bishop informed him, teasing the distracted officer. "Just a heads up."

"Really?" Knight looked up, half stunned. "They finally get tired of trying to fit the whole title onto their business cards?"

Bishop made a pointed look, shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe. It's called the 'Department of the Special Forces' now. Apparently the change has been intended for the past thrity years."

"And they're changing it now because...?"

"Couldn't get enough votes

"Uh-huh," Knight set the file down and returned to his previous activity. "Anything else?"

Bishop shook his head at his old friend's disinterest. "A few things, but seeing as you're busy with your tinkering, I'll do the kindness of para-phrasing; we'll bee pulling out of hyperspace in fifteen and you should probably prep for meeting with the Enclave Jedi Council. I'll leave with that," he gestured to the file. "See you then. I'm going to see how the guys are doing."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out, John," Knight joked as Bishop departed. Returning to his cleaning, Knight began to tease away a bit of bone caught in the mesh of the undersuit with a pair of fine-nosed tweezers when, by chance, happened to glance at a tab in the folder that had come out of place. He considered the ill-aligned corner of paper, the chilly vial of curiosity beginning to spill into his mind as to what it was. He turned his head towards the door that his Second had entered and departed from, and back to the thick object he had so eagerly rejected.

_Sure. Why not?_ He shrugged in a fashion that would put action to the thought that passed through his mind. He doubted whatever was in the collection of lab notes was enthralling as Bishop had insisted, but none-the-less he flipped open the folder to the offending page and began to read through the report. Halfway through the initial findings, his brow furrows and begins to skim over the schematics and diagrams as he goes from one page to the next. His eyes widened at the information he was reading, giving a low whistle to voice his intrigue.

"Color me impressed."

...

Canderous had taken residence in cargo hold, and occupied himself at a workbench on one end of the room with his heavy repeating blaster on swivel mounts bolted to the surface, dressed in a fresh change of cargo pants and shirtless to compensate for the heat the room produced, a box of tools next to him. Much like a Mandalorian, Canderous' torso was riddled with scars from puncture, stitches, sutures, cuts and burns; a gruesome history undoubtedly crouched behind all one them. For being in his early forties, Canderous was in incredible shape, arms and torso well muscled and sported a thin veil of hair that did little to sway the aura of grizzly violence the man emitted in spades. He, much like the rest of his culture, was a living instrument of conflict, meant to be thrust into the hottest theatre of war to do battle against others just like him. For now, in the cramped quarters of the _Ebon Hawk_, Canderous made do with tinkering about his aged blaster.

Bishop, with a lazy grin of amusement, knocked on the door frame to get his attention.

The mercenary gave an annoyed hiss. "What?"

"Just making sure I'm not sneaking up on you, I've seen the aftermath of spooking a _Mandor'han_. Not pretty in the slightest." Bishop replied, casually. He notes the cot that was set up not far from where a swoop bike — likely the same one Knight had used to win the Taris championship — lay inactive against the far wall, along with a bundle of items ranging from metal boxes to foil bags he supposed were the Mandalorian's personal belongings. "You know there _is_ a crew's quarters aboard this thing, right?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," Canderous snapped back. "I don't suppose it occurred to you that I really don't care for social interaction of any sort unless it's an absolute necessity."

"To each his own, I suppose," Bishop shrugged. A sudden grown from the far corner alerted Bishop to the presence of Davik Kang, bound and gagged to a folding chair and looking very unlike his normal self. His expensive suit was tattered and grimy, his fashioned hair was tasseled and matted, his face was caked with dirt and blood, only most of which was his own. He was, suffice to say, worse for wear. Bishop released a chortle and approached the fallen crime baron, chuckling in Spatri as he did so.

"_Sherrak mus peeno_, Canderous, what'd you do to the poor blighter?"

"I was getting tired of his rambling," the mercenary shrugged, a smile breaking his face before he added, "besides, he badmouthed my mother."

"Ah," Bishop nodded in understanding. "That'll teach you to mock a man's lineage won't it, Davik?"

Davik retorted, but whatever insults he was hurling at the armored Marine were lost into the thickness of the gag. Bishop, in response, delivered his fist into the man's gut. Davik began to cough harshly and started mumbling expletives as he hunched over. "That was satisfying."

"You have no idea," Canderous grinned and started worrying at the repeater's barrel assembly with a set of pliers and a socket wrench, trying to reach the weapon's projectile manifold, muttering to himself about "nearly getting it" before the pliers slipped and jammed into something. What exactly, Bishop didn't know for certain, but he guessed it was likely heat-displacement related, as a small trail of grey smoke whined up into his face. With a fit of hoarse coughing and bits of Mandalorian curses grunted between breaths, Canderous stumbled about the room for a few moments attempting to clear whatever foulness had inserted itself into his lungs. With a hack and a wheeze, he steadied himself on the counter near the sink and yanked the faucet on, taking larges gulps from the stream of water.

_"Meg'haar baati?"_ He muttered to himself. Bishop could best translate it as _What's the use?_, but he could be wrong, his Mando'a was rusted at best. "Ion projector's fried, and now the exhaust intake is smashed. Might as well trash it and pick up a new one on Dantooine."

"Gun trouble?" Bishop came off the wall and inspected the weapon on the table.

"You could say that," Canderous nodded.

"I just did."

"Smartass," the greying mercenary offered a an annoyed look, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The fire rate was starting to glitch after Davik's thug's knocked me out. It must've hit the ground wrong or something, maybe the energy plate was cracked during the fight with the Rakghouls and a bit of impact was the reed that broke the bantha's back. I really can't say. What I do know is that, unless you have a gunsmith on standby, this thing is done."

"Damn shame. You were pretty tight with this thing, weren't you?"

Canderous nodded. "First weapon I picked up when Clan Ordo fell apart, been with me ever since. Looted her from a Republic Army bunker on Manaz VI towards the end of the Wars."

"'She?'" Bishop cocked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. "You didn't up and name her did you?"

"No, but not for lack of trying. Nothing I came up with ever stuck." Canderous eyed the Spartan suspiciously. "Wait, why?"

"Social outcasts have a habit of pet naming things they hold close to them. Sometimes it's a gun, or a knife, sometimes it's something that has no business having a name. A buddy of mine on Varon had a nickname for his helmet."

Canderous grunted. "What?"

As Bishop opened his mouth to give the answer, but adopted a puzzled expression as the words died in his throat. "I...I forget. Huh."

"We all have those moments," Canderous shrugged. "Really none of my concern."

"That's well and good for you, but this is going to bug me for the rest of the trip."

"Can't help you there, pal."

Bishop waved Canderous' remark off as he took his leave. "Yeah, yeah."

...

Mission was in her bunk, curled up onto the bed. From the glossy look her bright eyes had, Bishop suspected she'd been crying. He knocked before he came in.

"Hey," he paused, not sure of what words he should use to follow without sounding like a total ass. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," she sniffed and sat up, wiping the wetness out of her eyes. "It's funny. I hated that damned piss hole of a planet, but I can't help feeling so...empty about it. All of my friends...gone. Just like that."

"I can't…believe it's gone…all gone." She looked agitated and her ratty clothing was in disarray.

"Mission, we'll get through this. _You_ will get through this. We brought you into this mess, we'll be with you."

"Damn right!" Mission growled, suddenly angry. She wiped her eyes and exploded into a tirade. "It's because of _you_ and that _Jedi_…Malak wanted to kill _you_, but now all of Taris is wiped out! It's your fault that our home is gone!"

Bishop made an understanding expression and plopped himself down on the bed next to her, putting his arm around her and holding her close.

"I'm sorry," she muttered after she had a chance to calm down. "I didn't mean to go off on you like that."

"Second stage of the grieving process," Bishop said. "It's okay, kiddo. Taris was the only home you'd ever known, shit hole status aside. As hard as it is to accept it, you miss it. For now you just need to vent"

Mission nodded. "I'll get over it, I guess. Just like the last one."

Bishop leaned against a bunk. "What do you mean?"

"Taris was just where I grew up," Mission sniffed. "It was home, sure. But up until I was six I lived on Gonami."

Bishop's head perked up. "That was a Union interest world."

"Yeah, some geological surveyor discovered a platinum deposit on the isthmus of two of the smaller continents and shared his findings with the naval station just out of orbit on one of the moons. That was about three-hundred years before I was born, so my father told me."

Bishop released a short laugh. "My brother Peter was stationed on the embassy when the Mandalorians invaded. I guess that was about the time you left."

The young Twi'lek nodded. "My father worked in the Embassy, I can't remember where or what his job was, but it was a substantial enough position to grant us an armed escort."

Surprise washed itself over the Spartan's features. "Damn. How many was it?"

"A fire team or two of specialized troops, I was too little to know the difference. From what I remember, they had a blue diamond with a 75 in bright red letters on their shoulders. I don't think he was far along the line of importance."

Bishop chuckled. "If he had an eight-man escort, he was high enough on the food chain. How'd you and your folks get separated?"

"When the Basilisks started falling, we were on our way to an evac station. I was about four and Griff was a few days shy of ten at the time, we were being huddled along by my mother's Talderan bodyguard Serig his wife Chera who were picking up the rearward position when a Mega Hornet took a pulsar to it's engines and crashed into the catwalk. As far as I know, my parents were killed in the crash. Serig and Chera got off planet, and they adopted us, taught us almost everything we know."

"Where are they at now?"

Mission thought it over for a while. "Two weeks out from Conabar, I think. Chera was a private security advisor and Sergis didn't trust anyone to keep her safe. You know how they are."

"Pointy of ear and ever ready to point out how much more better they are than every-other Senate species," Bishop remarked, mostly to himself. "At least they're not as bad as their cousins. With the whole worshiping a psychopathic ego-maniacal military dictator convinced the most militarized race in the galaxy are, in fact, extra-dimensional super demons plotting the destruction of the universe shtick," Bishop caught sight of Mission making a 'when you put it that way...' face at him, elbows crooked and hands on hips. "What? They are."

"They're also fiercely protective of their loved ones," Mission crossed her arms. "And one of the founding races of the Republic, and your people's strongest supporter in the galactic community."

Bishop groaned playfully, clapping a hand across his forehead and leaning back. "Oh, you have _definitely_ been assimilated. Next you'll grow long pointy ears and you're skin will turn mellow."

"Shut up!" Mission giggled and pushed him. Bishop made a face and ducked out of the room. "Hey, John?"

"Yeah?" Bishop popped his head back in, brows raised in attention.

"Thanks, for cheering me up."

"Anytime, kiddo," Bishop offered a warm smile before taking his leave, whistling the Talderan victory anthem as he went.

...

Bastila lingered in the small mess room of the _Ebon Hawk_; head cradled onto the crook of her elbow as exhaustion finally took its hold of her and robbed her of the waking world for a few minutes. Initially, she'd entered the quaint galley in search of something to ease her hungry stomach after a day's worth of physical strain and mental trauma that had zapped her of the hearty breakfast that Davik Kang, resident crime baron of the now-decrepit planet Taris, had provided for Commander Knight's recruitment into his galaxy-spanning criminal empire.

"We've got a barracks for a reason," she snapped awake at the first syllable, head turned to identify the man behind the voice. "Just so you know."

"John," she yawned. "How many blasted times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?"

Bishop chuckled and pulled up a stool at the counter next to her. "I can't say I kept an accurate account."

Offering a guffaw, Bastila lifted the decanter of wine she had selected and poured a glass for the cheery soldier she had become acquainted with. Bishop gave thanks. "So, what are you up to?"

"Checking in," Bishop shrugged. "Seeing how everyone's acclimatizing before we touch down. You feeling any better since the jump?"

"Slowly, yes," Bastila offered after a moment of thought. "I can..._ feel_ every death occuring on the planet. Every man woman and child screaming in terror, weeping in agony and despair. Millions and millions of minds and souls toiling in the current of the Force and balling into a torrent of...of..." She shook her head. "I can't describe it."

Bishop nodded, and waited few seconds of silence before Bastila adopted a suddenly perplexed expression. "Why do you ask?"

"As acting Executive Officer, it is my job to evaluate the mental and physical state of all Marines and assets for any form of trauma and submit my findings and recommended treatments to the nearest Union certified medical facility," Bishop listed off the reply as though he was reading it from a handbook, his index finger of his off-hand extended and making upwards thrust with his arm to enforce it. "It's stupid, but I could get my leave hours redacted if I don't do it."

"Really?"

Bishop shook his head. "It's not likely, most penpushers don't bother with the small infractions the Raiders make; either out of fear that we'll find out who they are and where they live, or because of our operating protocols. Our command structure is decentralized once we're deployed, ultimately it falls on the commanding officer what rules are enforced and to what measure, thus freeing decisions on the battlefield from discrimination on a fleet-wide level. Don't get me wrong, disciplinary actions are on the harsh if any of the reviewers thinks a particular Raider needs reminding of what he stands for. _Especially_ one with a Commander rank. We're expected to let our better judgment dictate our actions, failing that the _Codecies_ are there to offer support."

Bastila looked away for a moment to ponder what the Spartan had said. "So, a few bad choices or mistakes won't necessarily be confronted, but cock up enough times or in a particularly fantastical manner and you're thrown to the vultures?"

Bishop winked and made a pointed stabbing motion at her with an extended finger. "Exactly. With the attitude I got, and my penchant for snarkasm, I'm bound to be whipped for some form or fashion of insubordination. So, I try and be as form fitted as I can be to supply a little cushion when my ass is knocked to the floor."

"I should hope so," Bastila offered a sly, knowing grin. "After all, it's not like the floor did anything to slight anyone."

Bishop gave her a pointed look. "Oh, hahaha, Basila. Way to downsize your emotional support."

The padawan shrugged. "I do what I can."

"No doubt," Bishop downed the remained of his drink in a swift gulp and set the glass on the counter top as he rose from his seat. "We're a few mikes out from Dantooine, I'm going to go see how Carth's doing, make sure his head's on straight for meeting with the allied clans."

"I see," Bastila shifted her eyes back to her glass. "Very well. But be delicate about it, Carth isn't of the mindset your people share."

Bishop nodded. "Life's a bitch like that."

...

Gazing into Hyperspace and watching the streaks of light zip past the cockpit, Carth Onasi was quietly seated in the back of the pilot's chair, elbows rested on the armrests, fingers interlocked and chin placed into the crook of his thumb. The aged navy man's eyes were directed to the side, glossy and unfocused, his mind trapped in trapped in deep thought. Across from him in the navigator's chair, slumped over and asleep was the young pilot Hudrow, who they had rescued from the torture chamber in Davik's mansion. Not that he could be blamed for it, after an ungodly amount of time spent at the mercy of Davik's twisted whims.

"Hey," a voice from behind startled the aging Captain back into reality. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook ya, wanted to see how you were fairing."

Carth turned to see Bishop duck under the door frame that separated the cockpit from the rest of the ship. With a heavy sigh, Carth ran his hand over his few days of growth. "It's not the first time I've watched helplessly as the Sith leveled an entire world."

"Yeah," the Spartan nodded solemnly. "You okay with the whole Dantooine scenario?"

Carth rubbed his temple. "Honestly? No, not at all. We just witnessed the Sith _level_ Taris. There wasn't a building left over two stories tall. What's to keep them from finding and flattening the Order's beloved Enclave?"

Bishop shrugged, unable to answer. "I've come to learn that you do what you can with what you've got. We've got our orders, now we just have to trust that the Ram can deliver on his end."

"'The Ram'?"

Bishop glared at the pilot with partly closed eyes, his mouth slightly open and head tilted. "Oh, right," he chided, chuckling after a moment. "Long standing nickname of Commodore Hroom, commanding officer of Tasker Company. He got it back when he and Jack's oldman were in the Raiders, once upon a time, during the first conflicts with the Coalition."

"That was a hundred-fifty years ago!" Carth exclaimed, mentally kicking himself after Hudrow gave a startled snort and lifting his head to see what had happened, his lids heavy over his sightless eyes, before turning the other way to drift back to sleep.

_Smooth move, Chief._ Bishop mouthed. Carth shot him a venomous glare in response. "Yeah, and me and Knight are middle-aged, Revan was shy of two-fifty when he died. If you can call it that."

"What do you mean?"

Bishop blew an exasperated sigh. "It's a bit technical, but from what our scientists have managed to figure, Vangaurds have a special connection to the Force, unlike any other Force-capable species known. In truth they're more like living Force-conduits rather than forefronts of its power. In layman's terms, Vanguards are the Force made flesh; living terminals of the energy that was produced when the universe was born, which is way their midichlorians count is astro-freaking-nomical."

Carth's brow furrowed as he processed what Bishop said. "So, Revan's not dead?"

Bishop waved his hand. "Oh, Revan's most certainly dead. His energy thumbprint dissipated after Malak turned his ship into a field of rubble. But the energy he contained within his body went...somewhere else."

"Where?"

To that, the Spartan offered a restless, jerking shrug like he'd asked that question himself. "Back into the universe? Into someone else? Paddain only knows."

A worried expression dawned on Carth's features. "They can do that?"

"In some circumstances," Bishop nodded. "But the power the receiver wields is drastically lesser than the transmitter and that's about the limit of my understanding of it. The Force is a strange, mysterious thing. I prefer firearms for a reason."

Carth laughed. "I hear that."

"Well, I'mma go and fit my rig for when we touch down on the Enclave. Keep Jack posted."

Carth nodded. "You got it."

* * *

_**A/N: **__HOLY SHIT! __I've been featured on **TvTropes**? Thanks to MrLeBlac, HevyCalibre and everybody else for the support. For those curious, here's the link:_**_ tvtropes pmwiki/pmwiki. php/FanficRecs/KnightsOfTheOldRepublic_**_(removing the spaces accordingly)._


	18. Chapter XV: Sigilite

**_A/N:_**_ Planning a war with believable villain characters is hard. Damn my stubborn Roman-Catholic values. Also, I'm considering reformatting the story again, changing the name of the Spartan race to __**Spracian**__, as it was in my concept drafts. Let me know, review or PM me what you think._

_Enjoy!_

_- Leake_

* * *

_"Think of the Force as an elephant. The Jedi look at its feet and say that the Force is round and balanced, the Sith look at its tusks and say it is meant to show strength and force. A vanguard will look at the elephant and say 'It's a fucking_ _elephant.'"_  
**- Donno Amrath, Master Instructor of the Vanguard Order**

**"Sigilite"  
August 11th, 1496 AGM - 14:11:23 (STI)  
CMDR Jack Knight  
5th Pln., Tasker Co., 506th Bn., 1st Raiders  
****_Ebon Hawk, _****108,000km outside Dantooine orbit**

As Knight came onto the flight deck he observed the surge of emotion that rushed him. Even without proper training, he recognized the energies brought to him by the Force. There were still lingering tensions amongst the patched together team he had utilized to escape from Taris and the several survivors they had managed to evacuate from the doomed planet. The feelings would remain for a time, Knight knew, but it would fade. With a sigh he ventured towards the CIC.

"Looks more like a big luxury resort than a temple," Bishop observed as a hologram of the Jedi Enclave on the SIC table that dominated the center of the_Ebon Hawk's_ Combat Information Center.

"It was, more or less," Bastila said. "The Order...appropriated it from a media mogul after his decline from social standing."

"Waste not, want not," Canderous chuckled to himself. Bastila cast him a disapproving look. "What? It's a fortified, well built complex that can be easily defended if the time should come. It was a good move on your part."

"He's right, Shan," Bishop agreed, playfully nudging the Mandalorian. "Look at the patterns of the garden roosts and the landscaping. Whoever built this place certainly geared it for sieges."

Canderous offered a smile as he jeered, "Yeah, far better than Taris."

Bastila waved her hands in annoyance. "Don't _presume_ to lecture _me_ about Taris _or_ how the Order operates," she said, pointing her thumb at herself in sharp jabs with every word.

"Hey," Knight said, making his presence known. "No fighting in the war room."

Bastila glowered at the Commander but nodded her acknowledgement, muttering something under her breath as she stormed out of the room, Canderous shaking his head while sending an imperious grin her way. The Commander eyed the smug Mandalorian, who tossed his head in agreement. "Good. Carth up at the helm?"

Bishop tossed his head in the direction of the crew's quarters. "Carth looked damned-near asleep at the wheel so I had him clock out for some sleep and Hudrow's getting looked over by the medi-droid."

"So who's flying this thing?"

"Marl, Zalbaar and Mission, at the moment. She was aching for something to do that didn't involve crashing the Galactic Stock Exchange so he offered to show her the ropes."

Knight nodded. "As you were, then."

Bishop snapped a salute. "Aye sir."

Knight moved through the short hallway to the cockpit and nodded to Hudrow as he tested his breathing ability with the gauze bindings that encased his chest. The plucky young man offered an exaggerated smile and a thumbs-up. Knight simply shook his head as he continued. He happened across the trio as Mission reviewed a checklist of systems and breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad for the quiet and the space to let her think and observed Zaalbar asleep in the navigator's chair and smiled, Duncan leaned up against a console and nodded at Knight. Marl glanced up at the Spartan as he stepped in.

"Commander," the duelist nodded in greeting. "Our little spitfire here has quite the knack for spaceflight. Isn't that right, kiddo?"

"Ah-huh," Mission said, absently.

Knight shook his head and seated himself in the vacant com-officer's chair. "Glad to see the drama's over with for a while."

"Yeah," Marl released a lengthy sigh. "I can't thank you enough, Jack. I'm going to repay you someday."

In his whiny voice, Duncan added, "Now I can say I was the first duelist beaten by a hero! I'll be famous!"

Despite their fatigue, the band of survivors laughed out loud at this, making Zaalbar stir for a moment before he began snoring again. Knight reached out to both former duelists and clapped his hands about their shoulders. "My friends, I'm very glad we managed to haul you off Taris, you certainly made my time on Taris a memorable one."

Two days passed before Dantooine appeared in the viewer aboard the _Hawk_. As the pale green and blue world grew larger, Bastila seemed to relax visibly as if the weight of the destruction of Taris was washed from her shoulders. Carth guided the ship through the atmosphere and set a course for the Enclave. As they leveled off at 100 meters, a flock of birds flew in formation with them, squawking and cawing.

Carth, back at the helm and in a much improved mood, keyed the mike. "Dantooine Approach, this is the _Ebon Hawk._ Inbound for landing at twenty kilometers south of the space port."

_"Ebon Hawk, this is Approach, squawk Two-Two-Three-Seven and identify."_

"Wilco," Carth answered as he rotated the appropriate control yolks, changing their transponder codes to identify themselves.

_"Ebon Hawk, positive contact. Vector Zero-One-Zero. Cleared for landing, runway Three Five."_

Carth set the course and then, seeing the runway, settled the ship in one of the docking ports. Mission pulled out the 'After Landing' checklist and began to read as she flipped switches and turned knobs. "We're primed for landing!"

"Dantooine Ground, Ebon Hawk is clear of the active," announced Carth.

_"Roger. Ground out."_

Knight pressed a button in the cargo bay that lowered the ramp and the tired, cramped passengers staggered out onto firm ground. Some stood slowly as if in a daze. Giddy with excitement, Mission skipped off of the ramp and spread her arms wide, sucking in a long breath of the fresh air. Despite the relative quality of her clothing before their departure from Taris, the garments had become grimy and were in total disarray, gaining queer looks from the staff on hand to attend to the ship.

"Eheheh...sorry?" She managed, her face flush from embarrassment before she retreated back to the safety of the group, Knight glancing her way with a teasing grin that subsided into a heavy sigh, considering how much the girl's life had changed in the past month. A low woofing grunt came from the navigation room. The Wookiee stood there, looking serious.

Knight returned in his own language. "_I know, but I do. Mission is tough, but she's not hard, she has a breaking point and I don't know what we'll do if she reaches it. I could- I __**want **__to do more_."

The Wookiee gurgled in reply, to which Knight nodded. "_Never passed through my mind_," he said. "_I don't leave my team behind, dead or alive."_

Zaalbar grunted with a jerking bow. _"You're welcome, Zaalbar. And I do worry about Mission. I want to help her_."

The two sat in the Engineering Section and Zaalbar a released what amounted to as a sigh before he began. "_I know about Mission_. _She_ _has_ _been through a lot of betrayal in her life and she is very sensitive about trust_._ I know that you understand her rage and her fear, Jack Knight, but please understand why she is like that. She will not admit how hurt she was by her brother's actions."_

Knight looked at the towering Wookiee. "_I sensed a lot of that within her. I'll never betray her…you know that, Zaalbar. My oath was to defend those unable to defend themselves; I will not go against it._"

Zaalbar offered a reassuring a smile. He trusted the Spartan's word, but for the moment it remained to be seen.

**...**

Having changed into his off-duty fatigues, Knight exited the ship and saw Bastila speaking to a small, floating droid. The little sphere motored off in the direction of a graceful building surrounded by squat, bushy trees. Spotting Knight, she approached. "Commander, I am going to meet with the Jedi Council. I suggest you to wait for me at the Republic Headquarters; I suspect your platoon is waiting for you there. Captain Onasi and Bishop are en route already."

"Of course. Take your time, Shan."

Bastila rushed off toward the building, worry growing in her heart. Things did not turn out as they had planned. This mission should have been over, but now, they were farther back than when they started. Additionally, her charge had shown powers he was not meant to have.

_No good can come of this. No good at all._

The young Jedi ushered quickly into the chamber of the Council, where three men and a small alien sat. They were the Masters of the Academy; the most powerful and experienced of the Jedi on Dantooine. The diminutive, wizened creature with long ears and a blue robe motioned to her. "Padawan Shan, please come forward."

"Yes Master Vandar," she said with a deep, respectful bow. "I am afraid my mission has failed. I am not worthy of your faith," she said, lowering her head. Shame filled her heart.

One of the men, a Twi'lek with mauve skin smiled gently, a reaction most unexpected by Bastila. "On the contrary, you have done well, young one. You have returned to us beyond hope. We have also heard that Captain Onasi's heroism continues to serve the Republic." He then cocked his head inquiringly. "What of your cargo?"

Bastila tensed up. Her jaw shook with fear and fury. "Master Zhar…I-"

"I sense much rage in you, Padawan. Do not give in to your anger. Let go. There is no emotion," said a dark-skinned man in a deep maroon robe. His face was kindly and he looked at her with concern that she could feel through the Force.

"There is peace," finished Bastila. "I'm sorry Master Dorak, I have endured much…One of the violent gangs on Taris…enslaved me…I…was humiliated…I…" Despite her greatest effort, her face flushed deep red and her eyes became watery, blurring her vision. How could she face her teachers after this? How could they forgive her for failing them in so simple a task?

An elderly man in a rich orange robe cut on with a hand on her shoulder. He stood, emotionless, looking down on her with steely eyes. "There is no ignorance…"

"There is knowledge," she answered. Her body relaxed visibly and she inhaled deeply. "Thank you, Master Vrook. Masters, there is the matter of the Spartan Commander Jack Knight. The Force has awoken in him and he has shown much power. I would recommend that you see to him immediately. He is at the Republic Headquarters for the moment, awaiting your summons."

Master Vandar sensed what she was going to say, but the impact of her words struck him like a hammer all the same.

"We have been made well aware of the Commander's situation, Padawan Shan," a fifth voice, growl-like and distant, resounded from behind the Jedi Masters where a man was seated in a meditative position facing away from them. "While he is being fit for his new armor, I'd like it if we could be detailed on your observations of his abilities. If the Masters would not mind."

"Not at all, Lord Kaiden," Master Vandar nodded mechanically. "Let us begin, then."

**...**

The quaint design and furnishing of the Republic Headquarters beguiled the importance the building held. This was where the Republic Governor lived along with the tiny military contingent on the sparsely populated planet. All civil functions were run through this facility, but with close coordination with the Jedi Council. Today, it also played host to a unit of Spartan Raiders being fitted for new equipment.

"Good to have you back, sirs," Executive Commander Elizabeth Nolan said to her commanding officers as she escorted them to the makeshift armory that dominated an unused and outdated emergency shelter. "Dutch has been going on for days about the toys WSC dropped off on the _Concord_ a week ago."

"So it's safe that she's done bouncing," Bishop commented, causing a bark of laughter from his comrades. "I'm guessing there was some bouncing."

"Knowing Dutch, it's a safe bet," Knight agreed, garbling a laugh from Nolan as she turned a final corner into the armory proper. In the center of the wide-open room was the new armor system that Knight and his platoon would be field testing.

The Advanced Combat Integration Resource Armor, or ACIRA, model was more like a vest or a harness rather than an actual suit of armor like the venerated MAVERICK system, fitting over a sealed and lightly armored bodysuit. From what Knight had read in the briefing most of the design took several cues from the resilient Mandalorians and their extremely durable armor when they plagued the Rogue Systems in the Larechanus Abyss years earlier.

The ACIRA's chest plate was made up of interlocking plates of thick, ablative ceramics tempered to absorb and deflect the energy and heat from traditional blaster fire without sacrificing modular mobility or aesthetics. Systems wise, the suit was fairly bankrupt, most of the actual computing power housed in the helmet, save for micro-capacitors that gathered real-time battle telemetry and biofeedback systems to regulate the wearer's adrenaline surges while also releasing energy to speed up shield regeneration and combat-critical systems as well as integrated storage compartments to hold extra energy cells. Despite the numerous technological systems built into place, it was foremost designed to be light, effective, and easily repaired.

The ACIRA's armor system's standard issue helmet forgone traditional transparent visors in favor of a reinforced faceplate with an internal heads-up display. The headpiece plugged into the rest of the user's suit, gathering data so it could adapt to the wearer's tactics, boosting armor performance at critical moments to allow a soldier to operate with greater strength and speed than statistically possible. The display connected to redundant micro cameras to allow naturalistic vision inside the well-padded interior, that also opened via voice command or neural waves through the standard neural link located behind the ear to allow for face-to-face communication per the user's preference.

The helmet itself had been made up of dual layer of fabric armor and kinetic padding within a lightweight ablative titanium-reinforced ceramic shell, well-padded to lessen damage from shocks, blows and bullet impacts, while its on board computers monitored the wearer's heart-rate and central nervous system, and a suite of communication, navigation and battlefield awareness software. The helmet also came with an internally stored hard-seal plate activated via sensitive external sensors to protect wearer from hazardous environmental conditions.

"All standard features out of the box, but the guys at WSC made them fairly easy for us to play with the systems if we come across any...hiccups or concerns," Karen "Dutch" Holland commented, concluding her in-depth highlighting of the ACIRA's features. "Pretty sweet, eh?"

"Shiny," Bishop said with a whistle. "I do hope you didn't add as much polish to the Betas."

The armory chief shook her head, gesturing to one side. "Nah, they've been properly muddied down to a dull luster and adorned with the proper paint jobs, nicks and buff a proper exo-suit oughta have."

"Well, that's splendid news," Knight remarked, setting drown the helmet he had been inspecting. "Any chance we could get into fitting?"

Dutch pointed her arm to one side of the room. "Right this way, sirs."

**...**

Carth had lingered inside the main Republic Headquarters building while the Spartans attended to their business and the rest of the Endar Spire crew went about to occupy themselves. Not that the aging officer minded, as he'd quickly met with with another officer. They seemed very friendly and laughed at some inside joke as Knight rounded one of the many corners within the political building. The man extended his hand. "Congratulations, Captain Onasi." Carth shook the hand warmly and then saw the wandering Spartan.

"Jack!" Carth smiled as he met with his superior. "Get everything squared away with your gear?"

"For the moment," Knight said. "It'll be a while before we can get a hold of the new guns, for now John thought it would be a good idea to get acquainted with the higher-ups on staff before I go and see what the Council has in store for me." He regarded the man Carth was with. "Friend of yours, Carth?"

"Oh, right, this is Commander Ren, an old friend from the Mandalorian Wars. He and I served on the _Rellin Sun_."

"Well met, Commander," Knight clasped the man's offered hand. "Captain Onasi saved my life many times. It's good to have a keen-eyed man like him watching my back."

Ren laughed and gave Carth a playful push. "You mean, _this_ old space dog? Hah, I recall he couldn't shoot his way out of a barrel. Well, Commander, sir, the feeling is mutual. The Captain here thinks highly of you."

Knight raised an eyebrow at the statement, honestly surprised. "Not that he'd ever admit to it."

Before Carth could interject, Bastila entered the lobby. "Commander, there you are."

The Spartan turned about. "Miss Shan?"

"If your business with your platoon is finished, the Jedi Council is ready to meet with you."

Carth turned, his face full of concern. "Whoa…_that_ was quick," he said, pointing to himself. "Didn't you say it would take a while for the council to gather and make a ruling? What are you trying to pull?" Knight exhaled but kept his interjection to himself, as in truth he understood Carth's suspicion. The Jedi had already pulled the carpet from under him once and he wasn't about to let it happen again.

Bastila furrowed her brows, clearly impatient. "Carth, it is imperative to the survival of the Republic that we speak with the Commander. Please."

"It's alright, Carth," Knight offered with a reassuring wink. "For the moment, let's make nice with the toga boys while we prep for engagements.'

The Captain locked Bastila in eye contact for a moment, but then offered a nod of relent. "Okay, I don't like being left out of the loop, but for now, we'll do it_their_ way."

Knight nodded, grateful. With a smart turn, he walked with an eager bearing up to Bastila. "Lead the way."

As the two left, Carth looked to Commander Ren before he reared about and made headlong for the operations center that had been put up for the joint task force.. "Something is not right here. How on Yavin's Moons could _one_ damn Spartan affect the survival of the Republic? Plus, I just don't know if I trust those Jedi. They've left us hanging on more than one occasion."

Ren could only shrug, but Carth only shook his head. He was going to get answers, and he was going to get them _now_.

**...**

In the Courtyard outside of the RH building, Bastila and Knight walked back to the Enclave past Canderous, who had taken up flirting with various women as the others had dispersed to occupy themselves. The big merc raised an eyebrow and nodded curtly to them. "Where are you going?" he asked gruffly. "I've been sitting around all morning."

"It's none of your concern, Mandalorian," Bastila answered coldly, continuing on. Her dismissal of the man prompted him to break off from his perusing of his forming harem to accompany the two.

Canderous smirked. "Hey, you're welcome. Glad I could be of service by saving your ass on Taris," he said mockingly with a phony bow. "Say, how did a _great Jedi_ get smacked down by a mob of lousy Vulkars?"

The Jedi snorted and turned her nose up, clearly agitated. Knight took a cautionary step back from the two. "I don't want to talk about it. We have business with the Council."

"You _know_, if the Jedi had more like _you_, we might have won the War," the Mandalorian said, baiting her. "If it hadn't been for Revan…"

Bastila's cheeks turned rosy red and her face became as stone. Knight could tell she could take no more and held his arm up, blocking the big man from advancing and staring the Mandalorian down. "Let her be, Canderous. We'll be back soon. Carth is over at Headquarters, said he had accommodations for you."

He grinned broadly, knowing it was time to let it go. For the time being. "Excellent, see you around lady. Spartan."

Bastila continued the trip in silence. Her humiliation was complete. Everyone was mocking her, laughing about her weakest moment. She had gone from savior of the Republic to plaything of the Vulkars. Could she ever be redeemed? In her mind, she could still see Brejik's leering face. She shuddered.

"Hey," Knight's hand came to rest on her shoulder, lurching her out of her thoughts and turning her about to face him. "Don't let him get to you."

"He won't. _Didn't_," she corrected, looking away dejectedly. "I just-"

Knight held a hand up to cut her off. "I'm not going to sit here and say that there was nothing you could have done, you've figured that out by now all on your own; I won't say that you'll get over it, either. Whatever happened to you with the Vulkars - with _Brejik_ - that isn't going away. You're going to carry that load with you for the rest of your life."

Bastila sighed in frustration and rolled her eyes. "Oh, my, what a reassuring pep-talk. Was that supposed to make me feel better? I won't forget what that-that..._thing_ that called himself a man do to me, is that it? How am I supposed to cope with that?"

"I'm not trying to pep you, I'm telling you the truth," Knight jabbed a finger into her chest. "You went through a hell I can't even imagine at Brejik's hands. It has become part of you, but you don't have to let it define you. Bastila, you survived something a great deal of others would and did, in fact, _not_. That took more strength than _any_ Jedi could have possessed. You needn't be critical of yourself for that, Padawan Shan. You have far exceeded any standard that could be set on a woman in your place. Don't you ever, _ever_ forget that."

Bastila blinked several times as the Commander's words sunk in, staring at him in wide eye surprise as she collected her thoughts to respond. It was at that moment she realized she had yet to break sight of his eyes, intrigued by the reflection of her she spotted on the deep blue disks suspended in red-flecked fields of milky white. Then, she realized her face had become uncharacteristically warm and she looked away.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," She nearly yelled in reply, shrugging out of his grip and made to turn about. He laughed, a warm and husky sound that washed over her senses making her long to hear it more. _Now_ her face was really hot. "What? What is it that you find so amusing?"_  
_

"You're blushing."

Bastila snapped her head back towards him. Her fists tightened at her sides, she brought an accusatory finger up and opened her mouth to retort but looking at the lazy grin on his face, Bastila found herself at a loss for words and simply whirled about with a grunt of discontent. For a while, her pace lingered, hearing Knight's footfalls in line with her own as a storm of emotions and thoughts raged in her head.

"Commander?"

"Hmm?"

Bastila gulped and felt as if she had shrank to the size of an ant. "Thank you, Jack."

"You're very welcome, Bastila."

With a nod, the young Padawan redoubled her walk to the temple, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind slightly at ease and a slight smile on her face. He had said her name.

**...**

Together, they entered the mystic Enclave, where few outsiders were ever allowed. It was an austere structure of textured resin and stone colored in earth tones and black. Beyond its stoic appearance, a quiet and peaceful aura permeated its halls and it seemed to absorb sound and feeling.

The auburn-haired Jedi led the immediately out-of-place Knight before the Council. Soft, white lighting warmed the circular chamber, creating the only feeling in the otherwise serene room.

Bastila bowed and put her hand out toward the four masters. "Commander, here is the Jedi Council on Dantooine: Master Dorak, the Chronicler; Master Vandar Tokare…"

Knight's face paled slightly at the introduction of the tiny Vandar. "I know you. I mean, I've seen you before…in a vision," he said with the tiny Master. The four elder Jedi looked at each other with deep concern.

"Please do not interrupt," chastised Bastila. "We have an important matter to discuss with you."

Master Vandar nodded. "Commander Knight, I know your father well. He is a good man and a cherished ally of the Republic. Bastila has told me of your visions, especially the ones you two have shared. It seems that the two of you have developed some…bond."

Knight's eyes widened. "Is that why many of my visions are about her?"

The Twi'lek master, Zhar Lestin, nodded but seemed unsure. "Umm, yes. The Force often binds two people together. That is why, for example, we have the Master and Apprentice relationship."

"Bastila has told us that you have exhibited sensitivity to the Force. That is…most interesting," added Vandar while the elderly Master Vrook Lamar scowled.

"What the good Jedi is beating around to," another man joined the group, dressed in muted reds and grays, a thick beard growing from his otherwise youthful face. He stood to about Knight's height and was very lean, his tone was detached and, unlike his compatriots, was dressed in a form-fitted armored vest and greaves, readied for combat, "is that they have been considering an offer to train you, Commander." Bastila's eyes opened in shock and horror.

"Salvatore Kaiden," a broad smile dawned upon Knight's face as the man offered his hand. The Commander shook it eagerly. "It's been a long time, Major."

"Since Banrukaz, or Kelespi?" The Vanguard cocked his head to the side. "I've lost track."

"Lord Kaiden, he is too old!" Vrook groused, getting back to the matter at hand. "It is too dangerous." Knight exchanged looks with Bastila, whose pale features betrayed the fact that there was more to the story than he was being told.

Vandar's face darkened. Lord Kaiden looked to Vrook and said, "Is it not better that we control his growth. We cannot let one as strong in the Force as a Spartan to learn on his own. Such an act could prove catastrophic."

Master Vandar agreed. "We cannot leave this matter to chance."

Vrook bit his lip and nodded reluctantly. He was as rigid as a board and his jaw was clenched shut. He was clearly displeased by the turn of events. Knight could see a look in his eyes that was directed to him. If the Commander didn't know any better, he would say that it was a look of hate. The Spartan reciprocated with a pointed look of his own. One that served as a reminder of who he was, and what he was capable of. The aged Jedi cooled his sneer and Knight eased on his. By this time, however, Knight was utterly confused.

_The Jedi ways are strange. Oi. I hope their __**normal **__decision making process isn't like this._

Vandar extended his hands. "We have debated your situation all day. The Jedi Order has been decimated by wars and treachery. Our numbers dwindle as the Sith grow in strength. We must replenish our ranks and as such, we would like to offer you entry into the ancient Order of the Jedi as a liaison of sorts," he said, glancing at the Vanguard before sweeping his hand back. "Your training, while brief, will be arduous and you will suffer and sacrifice. However, your potential is unlimited. What say you, Commander?"

Knight sucked in a breath and couldn't quite catch the laugh that he expelled. "Two weeks I've gone from soldier to Apprentice Vanguard. This is..." he looked up towards the evening sky. "This is _much_ more than I'd foreseen for myself."

He sighed heavily, looking at Bastila, who seemed to force a nod toward him. It seemed as if she were caught in the tides of something that she had no control over and there was no fighting it. Knight straightened his stance and looked at each of the gather Masters. "'Be there no cause never more in danger, than when a man, no longer desiring, but intending Thold's will, looks round upon for aid that shall never come, and asks not why he has been anointed, but obeys.'"

"Convictions, thirty-three, seventy-one," Lord Kaiden nodded reverently. "A most excellent choice. Commander."

Knight looked upon the small green alien with conviction. "Master Vandar, tell me what I must do."

Vandar smiled, seemingly genuine. "Welcome, then, Commander. Lord Kaiden will be your trainer, of course, Master Zhar will be your adviser and Bastila will be your guide."

Bastila looked at Vandar in shock, but she did not respond. The Vanguard Kaiden continued, "Follow Master Zhar and he will take you to your dormitory, Commander. Your training has begun."


End file.
